Navigation
by Dani-Ellie03
Summary: Companion piece to "Can You Help Me." Emma would have totally sucked as an old-time navigator. All the more reason she was grateful for GPS. ... Too bad there were no GPS systems for post-curse familial relationships.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Navigation  
**Summary: **Emma would have totally sucked as an old-time navigator. All the more reason she was grateful for GPS. ... Too bad there were no GPS systems for post-curse familial relationships.  
**Spoilers:** Set after 1x22, "A Land Without Magic  
**Characters:** Emma, Henry, Snow, and James.  
**Rating/Warning:** K+, mostly for language.  
**Disclaimer:** _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. They left the character vault open during hiatus; I'm just taking advantage of it.  
**Author's Note: **So, I'm beginning to think that Vertical Horizon's _Burning the Days _album is some kind of precognitive soundtrack for this show. (Or, y'know, I could just be overly obsessed, but seriously, go give "Welcome to the Bottom" a listen and tell me it doesn't give you images of a pre-Emma Storybrooke.) The inspiration for this story and the lyrics used to head it came from a VH song entitled "I Believe in You" (see what I mean?). I've set this a few days after the events of "Can You Help Me," but you don't have to have read that one to understand this one. As always, I live for feedback, so lay it on me! Hope you like!

* * *

_It's always hardest when you doubt it,  
__It's out of sight. It hides from your voice.  
__But you could never live without it,  
__It's your birthright, this beautiful noise._

* * *

Whenever Emma Swan needed to escape for a little while, she looked for someplace high. It was a habit that started when she was about Henry's age. The house she was staying in at the time – the second one that year – was an 1880s farmhouse. A previous set of owners had added an enclosed porch onto the back of the original structure and as a result, the upstairs bathroom window opened up onto the roof of the porch.

Whenever it became too loud in the house for her, whether from the other children being rambunctious or the adults – she refused to call them her parents, foster or otherwise – yelling at each other or the kids, she would climb out the window and sit on the roof. Sometimes she brought a book with her, sometimes she brought a deck of cards, and sometimes she just propped her back against the house and watched the birds build nests or the squirrels run from tree to tree.

Once after she'd had a nightmare, she slipped out of bed, pushed up the screen in the bathroom window, and crawled out onto the roof. With no moon, the stars were exceptionally bright. A shooting star darted across the sky and Emma found herself wishing on it. Wishing that someone would come and take her away from this hellhole.

She should have been careful what she wished for. The night she climbed down from the roof onto the railing of the deck below and headed off to an illegal campfire at a state park with some teenagers was the last night she spent at that house.

The night had been fun, no doubt about that. The thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds had been amused rather than annoyed by the rough-and-tumble eleven-year-old who'd crashed their party and had even let her start the fire. The only problem was that none of them knew a thing about controlling a campfire. Soon it captured the attention of the park rangers, who in turn called the police.

The cops had rounded up all the kids and called their parents to come get them at the police station. The next day, the adults were on the phone to Emma's social worker. Sneaking out and getting in trouble with the police … she was a bad influence, they'd said. Emma had tried to tell them that it was one of the older kids in the house who had told her about the campfire in the first place but no one paid any attention to her.

Every place she was sent to after that – and there were plenty – she always looked for somewhere she could go to escape. Somewhere she could let the wind blow through her hair or stare up at the stars.

Most places, it was the roof of the building but sometimes she had to improvise. In Storybrooke, it was Mary Margaret's – er, Snow White's, and sweet Jesus, how weird was _that?_ – fire escape.

That apartment was in no way big enough for four people. A childhood spent crammed into tiny little spaces with a bunch of other kids had left Emma with a keen appreciation for privacy. She had just started to get used to sharing living space again with one other person and now she had to share it with three: her son and two people she'd thought of as friends – or in David Nolan's case, a guy she might have been friends with if he hadn't broken her best friend's heart – but were in reality her parents. And fairy tale characters but in all honesty, the parent thing was tripping her up far more than the fairy tale thing at the moment.

For her own sanity, having someplace to escape was a freaking necessity.

Emma didn't know how long she'd been out on the fire escape tonight. Long enough for the nighttime chill to set in. She had started to shiver, which to someone less stubborn would have been an indication to get back inside.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't know anyone had climbed out onto the fire escape with her. Something draped around her shoulders from behind. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her baby blanket covering her and groaned inwardly. Expecting Snow or maybe David, she turned around almost hesitantly and found, to her surprise, her son giving her a smile. "You looked cold."

"Thanks." She met his smile with a small one of her own. "I was getting cold." _Getting? _she asked herself. Try already there. Like, a half an hour ago.

Even though she hadn't extended the invitation, Henry sat down next to her and followed her gaze to the stars. "You know much about them?" he asked after a long beat of silence. "The stars, I mean."

"Nope." Which was kind of sad, considering all the time she had spent looking at them. She could pick out of the most basic of constellations: one of the Dippers – she didn't know which was which – and Orion. Sometimes she thought she could see Cassiopeia but she was never quite sure.

Not that any of that had mattered to her. The night sky calmed her in a way that very few things could. Looking up at the stars and contemplating the vastness of the universe made her problems seem so … insignificant. "I like the view here, though. I can see more stars here than I could in Boston."

"When I was little, she bought me this thing," Henry spoke up quietly. "When you turned it on in a dark room, it projected the night sky on the ceiling. Kind of like a little planetarium, I guess. After she tucked me in, sometimes we'd try to find constellations together."

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise. This was the first time Henry had shared something nice that Regina had done for him. She remained quiet, willing him to continue the story, but he didn't. Instead, he pointed up at the sky. "There's the Big Dipper." He moved his hand slightly. "And there's Polaris, the North Star."

Emma leaned over, followed his finger, and squinted. She saw the Dipper, all right, but she couldn't find the North Star. She would have totally sucked as an old-time navigator. All the more reason she was grateful for GPS. "Where? And how do you know which Dipper is which?"

"The Big Dipper is bigger, obviously, but it's also brighter," he said, answering her second question first. "That's usually the one you see if you only see one of them. As for Polaris, see the two stars that make up the outer edge of the bowl of the Dipper there? They point right to the North Star."

She followed the line he'd indicated and grinned when she finally found the North Star, a bright point twinkling high up in the sky.

"You see it now."

It wasn't a question. When Emma turned her head to meet Henry's gaze, she saw that he was smiling, too. "Thanks for the astronomy lesson, kid."

"Don't mention it."

A comfortable silence fell between them as they both returned their attention to the sky. After a few minutes, Henry's teeth began to chatter. "You should get back inside," Emma told him.

"So should you," he shrugged.

"Inside is a little cramped for me right now." Which was a really polite way of saying that inside was goddamned claustrophobic.

"They just want to get to know you, Emma."

Emma shut her eyes for a brief moment. She most certainly did not want to have this conversation with her ten-year-old. Henry wouldn't understand; that kid was far braver on the personal relationship front than she could ever hope to be.

However, from the expectant look on her son's face, Emma knew she had to tell him _something_ or he wouldn't let it go. "I know they want to get to know me, Henry, but you guys have to understand that I spent my whole life thinking they threw me away. The fact that I now know they didn't doesn't just erase all that."

"But this is what you wanted," he insisted. "You have parents who love you. They only gave you up to protect you–"

"They didn't do it for me."

When her son's eyes widened, Emma realized she'd spoken out loud. Damn it, damn it, _damn_ it! "What do you mean?" Henry asked her, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"Forget it, kid."

"No."

She didn't say a word. Maybe if she refused to talk, he'd just let the conversation drop and they could go back to safe topics like the stars.

He grasped her hand and looked slightly hurt when she shook it out of his grip. "Emma, what do you mean?" he asked insistently.

Of course, he'd inherited her stubbornness. Of all the things he could have inherited from her …

She sighed, partly in exasperation but mostly in defeat. "They didn't put me in that wardrobe to save _me_. They put me in that wardrobe to save _them_. They didn't care what happened to me."

"Is that what you really think, Emma?" a hurt voice asked from behind her.

Emma whirled around to see Snow standing at the window. Another silent string of curse words ran through Emma's head. This seemed to be the night for inserting her foot firmly into her mouth. Why had the universe forsaken her to the point that a girl couldn't sit out on the fire escape in peace anymore? "M-maybe," she answered in a meager attempt to spare Snow's feelings. She shrugged and blurted out a lame, "I don't know."

"Come on inside, then," Snow said in a tone that indicated it was not a request. "We clearly have a lot to discuss."

* * *

All three adults told Henry to go upstairs while they talked but he refused to leave Emma's side. The four of them settled at the kitchen table, Henry and Emma across from Snow and David. When Emma drew in a shaky breath, Henry reached below the table, took her hand, and squeezed. To her immense surprise, Emma found herself squeezing back.

Snow and David exchanged a glance. David nodded at her, telling her to take first go. Snow returned his nod, took a deep breath, and turned to face her daughter. "Let us have it."

Emma blinked hard. "Wh-what?"

"You obviously have some things you need to say," Snow clarified, her voice some kind of miraculous combination of tenderness and strength. "So say them. Let's get everything out in the open."

This was not at all how Emma had expected this conversation to go. She'd expected to sit there while they serenaded her with a chorus of "we love you" and "of course we did it to save you" and "you're our baby girl." Never in her wildest dreams had she expected carte blanche to speak her mind.

Now that she had free reign to let loose, however, she found she couldn't. She wanted to holler, wanted to yell and cry and scream, but nothing came.

After a few moments of silence, David said, "Don't worry about hurting us, Emma. Just let it out."

It wasn't until he said it that she realized she had been afraid of hurting them. Just a few days ago, she and Snow had made a decision to start off as friends. If this friendship was anything like others she'd had, it wouldn't survive once she told her what was really going through her mind.

Henry's hand tightened around hers. When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, he nodded at her, a silent gesture telling her to go ahead. Once again, she squeezed his hand back and took a deep breath to shore up her courage. "I was told I was found along the side of the road. You know what else is found along the side of the road? Litter. Trash. Things people don't want but can't be bothered to get rid of properly. I spent my whole life thinking that there was something inherently … unlovable about me because the two people who were supposed to love me more than anything else in the world didn't."

Anger stirred somewhere deep inside her, an anger that, for some sick reason, she liked. Snow knew about the hardships of Emma's childhood because she'd let bits of information slip to Mary Margaret. David probably knew, too, if only secondhand through Snow. They were aware what their decision had cost her, but she had never actually told them how she felt.

And she needed to. Desperately. "And then I find out that my parents didn't just throw me away. No, what they did was worse." She looked directly at them, watching the pain register on their faces with a perverse sense of pleasure. "They sent me off to some unknown place with nothing but a blanket to protect me in the hope that _I_ would somehow figure out a way to save _them_. It was never about protecting me from the curse to save me. It was about protecting me from the curse so that someday I could save you. If you cared what happened to me, one of you would have come with me."

"Don't you think that was the plan?" Snow interrupted, tears welling in her eyes. "I was supposed to go with you but you came early. The curse was coming. Sending you off in that wardrobe by yourself was the hardest decision we've ever made but we did do it to protect you. It was the only way for you to escape the curse, for you to have a shot at a real life."

"What the hell kind of real life did you expect me to have?" Emma cried, her anger growing. "I was _minutes_ old and you sent me off with a little boy instead of a parent!"

David and Snow looked at each other with identical bewildered expressions. David recovered his voice first. "Emma, what on earth are you talking about?"

Seriously, he was asking her this? Didn't they know? "August was … is? Ugh, whatever. August is Pinocchio. He was sent through a little bit before me."

"H-how is that possible?" Snow murmured to David, the tears in her eyes spilling over. "The wardrobe only took one. That's what they said!"

The utter fury clouding David' eyes caused Emma to wince. "I have no idea," he said through gritted teeth, "but believe me, when we're done here, I'm rounding up Geppetto and the Blue Fairy and demanding some answers."

"Emma, we promise we didn't know," Snow said in a rush, her eyes frantic. "We were told the wardrobe could only protect one. The original plan was for me to go through and raise you in the new world. But then you were born early and … you have to believe us, Emma, we never planned on sending you through alone. We thought it was our only option."

From Snow's panic and David' seething rage, Emma could tell they were telling her the truth. She felt the fight leaving her, the anger subsiding, the pleasure at their pain vanishing. But they had only addressed one part of her complaint. Her voice notably softer, she said, "But it was still about saving me so that I could save everyone."

"You're right, Emma, on a practical level, it was," David said. "But on a personal level, I was devastated at the thought of my beautiful little girl never getting to experience happiness and love and joy."

"It was both," Snow agreed. "We saved you because you're the savior but also because you deserved better than the life you would have had if you stayed. Because we're your parents and we love you and we wanted you to have a life not clouded by the curse. I'm truly sorry things didn't work out the way we would have wanted for you but you have to believe me when I say that we did want to protect _you_."

Emma remained silent, letting their words settle. David mistook her silence for hesitance. "I know we've given you no reason to trust us." She flinched at his words because she _did_ trust them. At least a little bit, enough that she hadn't taken Henry and moved out of the apartment with him. "Trust is something you don't give freely. We're going to have to work for it, and that's fine, because we want to."

He paused, and Snow grasped his hand, encouraging him to continue. "But we can't know we're not working hard enough unless you tell us, Emma. If you have questions, ask. If you want to yell at us, then yell. If you want or need to talk, let us know. We're trying to follow your lead but you have to give us some kind of direction in order for us to do so."

All of a sudden, she felt exactly as she had when Henry had to teach her how to find the North Star. She was the one navigating her family's reconnection? Too bad there were no GPS systems for post-curse familial relationships. "It's just that … well … it's …" She sighed in exasperation at being unable to find the correct words.

"You're used to taking care of yourself and it's hard to let anyone else in," Snow provided for her. When Emma gave her a relieved nod, Snow smiled gently at her. "I know that, Emma. And I know we've hurt you far more than we ever intended. It's okay if you're not ready to let us in completely. We haven't earned it yet but we want to earn it."

When Emma felt a familiar scratching in the back of her throat, she groaned inwardly. God-freaking-dammit, she was not going to start crying now. Henry squeezed her hand again, and the gesture helped her regain her control. She swallowed hard and looked up at her mother and father. "Thank you. I know I'm not making any of this easy and I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, Emma," David assured her, his voice soft. "We're the ones who are sorry. For everything."

"There's no need for you to apologize, either." She glanced over at Henry, who gave her a proud smile. "It was an impossible situation and an impossible choice," she paused, giving a little nod in Henry's direction, "but it's one I think I would have made myself. I know what it's like to want your kid to have the life he or she deserves. And I know how it feels to find out that the kid didn't get it."

David and Snow gave their daughter a smile through glistening eyes. Oh, fantastic, she'd made her parents cry. While she may have had a few minutes of wanting to hurt them earlier in the night, that desire had long since passed. "All right, are we done with the mushy portion in the evening?" she asked through a self-deprecating chuckle. "Because I think I've reached my mushiness threshold."

The joke was met with a chorus of relieved snickers, which was what Emma had intended. "Yes, I think we're done with the mushiness," Snow smiled as she pushed herself up from the table.

The other three followed suit, standing up from their seats. After looking Emma over to make sure she was okay, David met Snow's gaze, the fury returning to his face. Snow gave him a nod to tell him she wanted to join him on his quest for answers before turning back to her daughter and grandson. "We're going out for a little while." She had addressed the statement to both of them but then she focused solely on her daughter. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay," Emma told her. "Tired now, but okay."

"All right," Snow replied. She ran her thumb down Emma's cheek, a gesture Emma ordinarily would have taken umbrage to but tonight found comforting. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

After Snow and David closed the door behind them, Emma let out a heavy breath, ran her fingers through her hair, and looked down at Henry. She hadn't been lying when she told Snow she was tired; she was freaking _wiped_. "I don't know about you, kid, but I'm beat. I think it's bedtime."

Henry wrinkled his nose but apparently didn't have the heart to argue with her. "Sounds good to me."

Emma raised her eyebrows at him and snickered. "No, it doesn't, but thanks for not putting up a fight."

She let Henry have the bathroom first while she went upstairs to change into her pajamas. When Henry emerged from the bathroom, Emma took it over. After she brushed her teeth and washed her face, she climbed the stairs to find Henry camped out on her bed. "So, downstairs with your parents," he said before she could even get one word out, "was that so hard?"

A sly sparkle brightened his eyes, a sparkle that she'd seen many times when they were discussing Operation Cobra. But why would he have that look in his eye now?

All of a sudden, it hit her. "Did you _plan_ this?" she asked, her voice rising in indignation.

"I might have told Snow that you were sitting on the fire escape again and that I was going to go check on you, knowing she'd follow me," he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"Henry! That is … that's not … you can't just _do_ that!"

"You needed to talk but I knew you'd never go to them on your own and that they didn't want to upset you. You guys needed a little push."

"And you thought you were the one who should give us that push?"

"Well, yeah." It was clear he had absolutely no idea what the big deal was. "Who else was going to do it?"

Emma chewed on her lower lip, trying to decide whether she was annoyed or grateful. Eventually, gratitude won out. She heaved a sigh as she plopped down next to him on the bed. "You are aware that I'm supposed to be the adult in this relationship, right?"

"Yep," he grinned. "I just didn't care."

"Well, thank you, but if you ever do anything like that again, you'll be grounded until you're thirty."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it." A moment of silence passed between them and then Henry asked, "So, which was harder, that talk with your parents or fighting the dragon?"

Emma allowed a second of shock at her son's cheekiness before lightly thwapping him with a pillow. He cried out in surprise and, grinning widely, grabbed the other pillow and hit her back.

The fight escalated, and soon they were both using Emma's bed as cover, Henry on one side and Emma on the other, ducking behind the mattress and tossing the pillows at each other. They were laughing so hard that they never heard Snow – who had returned to the apartment because she'd forgotten her coat in her rush with David – climb the stairs, peek in on her daughter and grandson, and creep back down the stairs with a wide smile on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** First off, let me say that you guys rock. Thank you so much for the lovely feedback you've left for this story. And since like, 95% of that feedback asked me to continue, I'm continuing. Fair warning, though: it's been quite literally _years_ since I've flown by the seat of my pants with a story, so y'all might have to bear with me a little. I've got ideas for two more chapters, but I'll try to keep it going until I run out of ideas or Vertical Horizon lyrics to head the chapters. ;) And as always, feedback would make my little day!

* * *

_It's hard to see beyond hindsight,  
__When all regrets fade in from black._

* * *

"Did you see the look on her face?" David asked, barely concealing his rage as he stormed down Main Street. "She hated us. It was fleeting, but for a moment or two, she hated us."

"Can you blame her?" Snow replied as she struggled to keep up with her husband's frenzied pace. He'd let out a mildly impatient huff when she'd had to go back for her coat and had barely given her time to shrug it on before taking off down the street. "Think of all she's been through. She spent her whole life believing her parents threw her away only to find out that her parents sent through a magical wardrobe with only a little boy to accompany her. She thought at least one of us had the opportunity to go with her and chose not to."

"We would never have done that, Snow," he insisted.

"I know that, you know that, and I'd like to think that somewhere deep inside her, she knows that, too. But a lifetime of believing you were abandoned and unloved doesn't go away overnight," she gently reminded him.

"Yes, well, if we'd been told the truth, she wouldn't have had to grow up believing she was abandoned and unloved, would she?" he grumbled.

At that point, Snow let the conversation drop. Her husband was far too angry for rational discussion.

Snow was irate, too, of course. She was also confused and hurt. The spark in Emma's eye that David had referenced – the one that made it quite clear Emma had _liked_ that her words had stung – was devastating. The guilt over the fact that she and David had caused their baby that much pain and anger was worse.

But the knowledge that the wardrobe had had enough magic to protect two? That was soul-crushing.

David abruptly stopped walking, and Snow came within a step of crashing right into him. "What is it?" she asked, looking up at him with a perplexed frown. He didn't say a word but after following his gaze, she understood.

Geppetto stood diagonally across the street from them, deep in conversation with Jiminy. Despite her tumbling emotions, Snow allowed a small smile. Not counting her time as Mary Margaret, she'd only known Jiminy as a cricket. It was kind of nice to see him walking around full height.

David clenched his hands into fists and took a step forward. Gasping, Snow grabbed onto his arm and tugged him to a stop. "Calmly, Charming."

He turned to her, his eyebrows raised. "Calmly? You want me to approach this calmly? How are you not livid right now?"

"I am," she told him, and gods knew that was the truth. "I'm furious but ranting and raving will not accomplish a thing. We want answers, not a fight."

Realization lit David' eyes. As the saying went, he would catch more flies with honey. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an effort to compose himself. As soon as he squared his shoulders, Snow knew that he'd sufficiently calmed and let his arm go. They crossed the street hand-in-hand and greeted the two men.

At first, the pleasantries were cordial, but when Geppetto and Jiminy spied the serious expressions on Snow's and David' faces, their warm smiles of greeting fell away. When David asked them – calmly, like Snow had said, but in a tone that brooked no dissent – to accompany them to see the Blue Fairy, both looked sucker-punched. Their lie, they knew, had been uncovered, and the fallout was not going to be pretty.

* * *

A steady pinging sound slowly drew Emma out of a deep and heavy slumber. With a whimper that bordered on a whine, she opened her eyes and squinted at the clock. The little red numbers told her that it was just before ten. If she wasn't so freaking exhausted, she might have taken the time to wonder what the hell she was doing in bed so early. Instead, she yanked the pillow over her head and willed herself to go back to sleep.

The pinging continued unabated. Every few seconds … plink … plink … plink. It was goddamned obnoxious. The more she tried to pretend the sound didn't exist, the more she focused on it. After a minute or so, it was the only thing she could hear. She pushed the pillow off her face with a grunt, sat up, and threw the comforter off her legs.

To her surprise, she found Henry curled up next to her. What in the …

Then she remembered. They'd collapsed on her bed after their pillow war – Henry had said that calling it a pillow "fight" was too wimpy – out of breath and completely wiped. Before either of them knew it, Henry was fighting to keep his eyes open. Emma didn't have the energy to move him, so she'd just let him conk out and had apparently fallen asleep herself not long after.

Plink … plink. "Oh, for God's sake," she grumbled, climbing off the bed. She followed the sound to her window. Seriously, what the hell?

She opened the window and peeked down to find none other than August Booth standing on the street below, a bunch of small stones cupped in his palm. "Really?" she called down to him as quietly as she could while still being heard. "Throwing pebbles at my window? What are you, a teenager in a movie from the 1950s?"

"If someone hadn't set her cell phone to silent, I wouldn't have had to resort to being a teenager in a movie from the 1950s," came the cheeky reply.

Emma's frown deepened. She'd stopped setting her phone to silent the night she was elected sheriff. "My phone's not on silent."

"Then you must have been dead asleep because I called you three times. Oh, and I've been standing here throwing pebbles at your window for a good fifteen minutes, so there might be a few concerned-citizen messages waiting for you at the station tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes. Wonderful. "What the hell do you want, August?"

"Letting me in would be a start."

Her jaw dropped in indignation. "You wake me up at ten at night after ducking me for days, and you honestly think I'm going to let you in?"

"Well, it would be a little easier and a lot more private than yelling at each other from three stories apart," he returned with a nonchalant shrug. "But I suppose if you want to continue the conversation like this, we can."

Who the hell did he think he was, bringing logic into this? With an exasperated huff, she closed the window. She checked to make sure the conversation hadn't disturbed Henry – it hadn't, and she thought somewhat jealously that the kid could sleep through a circus – and drew the covers around his shoulders.

Emma snatched her phone as she passed the nightstand. She checked the display as she tiptoed down the stairs. Sure enough, there were three missed calls, just as August had said. She double-checked to make sure she hadn't accidentally set the phone to silent mode. _Maybe Henry's not the only one who could sleep through a circus_, she idly thought as she unlocked the door.

August was already standing in front of it, waiting to be allowed entry to the apartment. "You know," Emma said as she leaned against the doorjamb, "I could have just gone back to bed and left you standing out here."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't do that to me."

She arched an eyebrow. "No one would blame me if I did."

"No, they wouldn't." With his words, the playful air between them turned serious. "You know, I never thanked you properly for saving me."

"You're right," Emma agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You didn't."

After the cloud rolled through and her awkward reunion with her parents, Emma had left them watching over Henry at the hospital – "Don't let him out of your sight," she'd instructed, as if they would – while she raced back to the inn to check on August. The curse was broken now, and he'd told her that breaking the curse would save him. Her heart had dropped into her stomach when she found him in the exact same state as she'd left him.

She hadn't had the slightest clue what to do to help him, but luckily Mother Superior had followed her from the hospital. When the woman introduced herself as the Blue Fairy, something in Emma's brain had clicked. If she remembered correctly, the Blue Fairy was the one who'd turned Pinocchio into a real boy in the first place. And if she'd done it before, that meant she could do it again.

At first the Blue Fairy had insisted that nothing could be done, that Pinocchio had known what he'd had to do to remain a real boy and clearly hadn't done so. It took a lot of arguing that a little boy should never have been given that kind of responsibility and even a bit of begging on Emma's part to get her to change her mind. The next thing Emma knew, August – a flesh and blood August – was waking up.

They'd just barely gotten the chance to exchange relieved pleasantries when Emma's phone started ringing. The town was in chaos, no one knew what to do, and they were all calling their sheriff and savior for guidance. Emma had left, apologetically promising to get back in touch with August as soon as she could. He had ignored every single one of her calls and messages in the days since.

"So, you know, thanks," a visibly uncomfortable August said, bringing Emma back to the present. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Emma scoffed. "Yeah, because that's a proper thank you."

"What's your idea of a proper thank you?" he challenged.

She sighed as she stepped away from the door, allowing him into the apartment without actually extending the invitation. As he closed the door behind himself, she sat down at the kitchen table and gave him a look that made it clear she expected him to follow suit. "A proper thank you from you should at least include some kind of an explanation. I know you tried to tell me before and I didn't believe you. But I want you to tell me now, and I have some questions that I need answered."

* * *

Snow, David, Geppetto, Jiminy, and the Blue Fairy all settled into a booth at Granny's. It was both a public place and neutral territory, which was beneficial to both sides.

At least, Snow was sure that was how David was looking at this meeting: a war. Snow, on the other hand, didn't think of it as war. She just wanted an explanation. Red had offered beverages on the house – presumably because it looked as if the coming conversation was not going to be pleasant for anyone at the table – and all five of them had gratefully accepted.

"So, this is how this is going to go," David said to the three people on the other side of the booth. "We are not leaving here until someone gives us a reason – a satisfactory reason, mind you – why my daughter was sent through that wardrobe with a little boy instead of one of her parents."

Jiminy, the Blue Fairy, and Geppetto all exchanged a glance in an attempt to figure out which of them should start. Jiminy opened his mouth but Geppetto held up a hand, cutting him off before he could even begin. "No. This was my decision. I should be the one to tell them."

He inhaled deeply and held the breath a moment, then looked both Snow and David in the eye. "When Blue took me to the enchanted tree, she told me that it had enough magic to protect two. As we discussed the curse, it suddenly hit me … what about Pinocchio? After all, he didn't come into our world like you and me. If magic brought him to life, magic could very well take that life away."

"I told him I couldn't be sure what would happen to Pinocchio," the Blue Fairy interjected. "I had no way of knowing what the curse would do. Clearly, it would have taken away their happiness, but what did that mean? Would it simply separate the two of them, or would it strip away the magic that made Pinocchio a real boy?"

"So I bargained for Pinocchio's place in the wardrobe," Geppetto continued, his voice filled with shame. "Blue's original plan was for the two of you to go together. I told her I wouldn't make the wardrobe unless Pinocchio could have one of the spots. I told her to tell you the wardrobe could only protect one."

When Snow felt David tense, she placed a hand on top of her husband's to calm him. She swallowed hard to stop the threatening tears and refused to allow herself to think of the what-ifs. What if she and David had been able to go together? What if Emma had had a parent with her? What if she'd had to parent both Emma and Pinocchio, raise them as siblings?

"When Emma came early," Geppetto said, clearing his throat, "Blue told me that Pinocchio couldn't go, that Emma needed her mother. You have to understand, the only thing getting me through the coming of the curse was knowing that Pinocchio would be safe. To find out at the eleventh hour that he couldn't go? I was desperate and terrified, but not for myself. I was scared for my boy. And I knew what I had to do. I told him that he had to look after Emma in the new land, and he promised me that he would. Then I tucked him into the wardrobe and closed the doors."

By now, Snow's tears were streaming down her cheeks. David gripped her hand and addressed Geppetto through gritted teeth. "He was a little boy! What made you think he would have any idea how to take care of a baby? Both of them grew up without parents because of your decision–"

"Charming, stop," Snow instructed, her first words since ordering a glass of water from Red.

He looked at her with his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Stop? Who was he to decide that our daughter should grow up without her parents?"

"And who are we to decide that our daughter is more important than his son?" she quietly returned.

All of a sudden, David' features softened. He slumped back in the booth, weighed down by comprehension. Geppetto had simply been trying to save his child, the same way he and Snow had been trying to save Emma.

The next time Geppetto spoke, his voice was weary. "I'm sorry we lied–"

"We're all sorry we lied," Jiminy interrupted. A nod from the Blue Fairy indicated her agreement.

"I just … couldn't let anything happen to my boy," Geppetto finished. His shoulders slumped, and he looked and sounded utterly drained.

Neither Snow nor David felt right about assuring him that it was okay, because it wasn't. Nothing about the situation was okay, but it wasn't Geppetto's fault, either. The curse had pushed them all up against a wall and they'd all tried to protect their families in any way they could.

David and Snow exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Less than an hour ago, Emma had forgiven them for making a decision she believed she would have made herself. Emma was the one who'd arguably been affected the most, and she was strong enough to offer forgiveness. How could they not extend Geppetto the same courtesy?

David nodded, and Snow reached across the table to grasp Geppetto's hand. He gave her a relieved and grateful smile in return, but the look in his eyes – a look Snow recognized from the mirror – told her that the hardest absolution for him to find would be from himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Once again, thank you all for your reviews and favorites and alerts. You guys do wonders for my confidence level. :) This chapter was a bit of a challenge, so I'm really interested to hear what y'all think. Enjoy!

* * *

_All you have is your name, but the air is alive.  
__You are the light._

* * *

After a full two minutes of sitting in silence, Emma rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet. She opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. A conversation like the one she and August were about to have ordinarily required either coffee or something with a kick, but quarter past ten at night was too late for coffee and she was too tired for alcohol. She handed August a bottle before sitting back down in the chair. "Any time now," she said, her voice tinged with impatience.

"Look, Emma, I was just a kid. This world was–"

"Stop right there," she interrupted, holding up a hand. " I don't blame you for leaving."

He blinked in surprise. "You don't?"

She remained still for a long beat, staring at her bottle of water. Then she looked up at August and shook her head. "I did at first. You were the only one I had and you left me to fend for myself. But the more I thought about it … holy shit, it must have been _terrifying_ for you."

August briefly shut his eyes as he nodded in agreement. "You have no idea, Emma. I was a little boy left in charge of a newborn in a world filled with things I'd never seen before. Telephones and television and cars and trains and airplanes … everything you take for granted because you grew up with it. This world was big and loud and frightening, and navigating it by myself with you in tow was … well, difficult is an understatement."

"To say nothing of what people must have thought when you told them your name was Pinocchio," Emma interjected.

Her joke fell flat, but August smiled anyway to let her know he appreciated the effort. "The first person I told was a waitress in the diner. She kind of chuckled and asked me what my _real_ name was. I honestly have no idea how I came up with August."

"That's how you started lying," Emma breathed, her eyes widening in realization.

He gave her a curt nod. "I tried telling the truth but no one believed me. Why would they? To them, our world was the stuff of imagination and make-believe. I did stay with you for a little while. I tried to protect you like I promised–"

"Like I said, I don't blame you for leaving me," Emma said, interrupting his apology. "You were just a little kid. Your father never should have placed that kind of responsibility on your shoulders."

"I know why he did it," he said as he picked at the label on the bottle of water. "He was trying to protect me."

"Just like my parents were trying to protect me," Emma murmured. She waited until he caught her eye to continue. "Unfortunately, knowing why they did it doesn't make it any easier to deal with, does it?"

"No," he agreed, his voice soft. "It certainly doesn't."

Another moment of silence fell between them as they both sat lost in thought. Visions of the what-ifs and the maybes and how life could have been if not for the curse filled both their minds. It was August who broke the silence this time. "So if you don't blame me for leaving, why are we having this conversation?"

Emma fidgeted as she spun the bottle of water around on the table with her fingers, a quarter-turn at a time. Three full revolutions of the bottle later, she spoke up again. "You never came back for me."

He leaned back in the chair with a defeated expression on his face. Something told Emma that he'd been afraid the conversation would take this turn. "I have no excuse for that, Emma."

"I don't want an excuse," she insisted. "I want to know why."

"There's no reason I can give you that'll satisfy you."

"Then give me one that won't satisfy me."

"Emma–"

"Look," Emma said, her voice growing hard, "I'm not asking for a reason because I think getting one will make everything all orange juice and sunshine. I just need to know."

When he pushed himself from the chair and began to pace, Emma arched an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. "If you want me to tell you this story, I need to move."

She rolled her eyes but since she didn't tell him to sit back down, he kept pacing. "I had every intention of coming back for you someday. When I was older and I'd settled in someplace safer and once I figured out how this world works. The older I got, though, the more I understood how social services worked and the more I realized I would never get near you. I was an eighteen-year-old kid with only a motorcycle to my name. I'd bounced around the country mostly off the grid. There was no way in hell any social worker would place you with me."

Finally out of nervous energy, August sat back down. "So I figured I'd wait until you aged out of the system. By the time your eighteenth birthday rolled around, I was on the ultimate road trip, heading from place to place whenever the fancy struck. I'm sorry to say, Emma, you didn't really fit into that equation."

He glanced at Emma only to look away again when he saw tears beginning to gather in her eyes. "I kept telling myself, next time I'll find a real place to stay and get a real job and then I can find her. But 'next time' always turned into 'next time, I mean it' which then became 'next time for sure.' I don't even think I was aware of how much time was passing. The next thing I knew, I was half a world away, being woken up by a shooting pain in my leg. The first words out of my mouth were, 'Oh, _shit_. Emma.'"

He let out a heavy breath and gave her a weary, apologetic shrug. "And now you know. I told you I had no excuse. I was selfish, so unbelievably selfish."

Emma wanted to yell. She wanted to holler and scream and rail at him, to spell out everything she had endured because he had broken his promise. When she opened her mouth, however, she found that she couldn't.

Maybe on some level, she'd already forgiven him. Or maybe the righteous anger would come a couple of days from now once his story had had a chance to sink in. But all she could say to him at the moment was, "You were running, both from responsibility and probably out of guilt. As someone who ran for a long, long time, I get it." She couldn't bring herself to tell him that her fight-or-flight instinct was still going strong, to the point that she'd had dreams of packing Henry up in her Bug and taking off with him for parts unknown.

August had been expecting a fight. He didn't quite know how to respond to understanding and sympathy. "What?"

"My childhood sucked, August. I could tell you all about it but I have a funny feeling that you already know. Your childhood doesn't sound like it was any better than mine." She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "So for right now, let's just say that I get it and leave it at that. I do reserve the right to be angry later, though, so don't go thinking you're off the hook just yet."

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of August's mouth. "I don't think I know what to do with this side of you. It's … healthy. Dare I say, almost well-adjusted."

"Yeah, well, I could still throw you out of the apartment on your ass, so I'd watch my tongue if I were you." The smirk on her face softened the harsh words.

Before August could respond, the sound of a key turning in the lock on the apartment door startled the both of them. "Oh, um, by the way," Emma said with a sheepish cringe, "I might have told Snow and David who you really are and that you came here with me."

"Fantastic," August grumbled. If they knew he had come to this world with Emma, surely they knew he had left her as well. His eyes darted around for an escape route but the only one he knew of was the fire escape and he didn't have time to reach it. A quiet string of curse words escaped his lips as he and Emma scrambled to their feet.

Snow's and David' quiet conversation came to a halt the second they saw August. "What are you doing here?" Snow breathed, her fiery eyes focused solely on the man standing next to her daughter.

Emma and August exchanged a nervous glance. Emma wondered if this was how it felt to have her parents catch her making out with her boyfriend. If so, that was really unfair, considering she and August hadn't been doing anything to make the discomfort worth it. "I know it's late–" August started.

"You left her," Snow interrupted, taking a step forward. August instinctively stepped backwards. "You were supposed to protect her. You promised your father."

Good God almighty, Emma did not have the energy for this tonight. She pressed a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes before murmuring, "Stop."

Sensing Emma's impending meltdown, David grasped Snow's arm. Unfortunately, Snow was already well into mama bear mode. "She was just a baby! She needed you and you just–"

"Stop it!" Emma hollered. Belatedly, she remembered that Henry was sleeping upstairs. "God_damn_ it," she said at a much quieter volume. She looked up, addressing her mother. "He was a kid, too, remember?"

Snow shifted her glare from August to Emma, tears brimming in her eyes.

"I should go," August muttered, almost under his breath.

"No," Emma insisted. "August, don't–"

"It's okay," August assured her. "It's late; I should be getting back anyway." He gave Emma a tense smile and bid her parents a rather uncomfortable good night before slipping out the apartment door.

Emma locked the door behind him and whirled around, hands on her hips and an irate glare fixed directly on her mother. "Why did you have to do that? He's just as much a victim of the curse as I am. It orphaned the both of us, and you know what? It actually felt kind of nice to be able to talk about it with someone who understands."

Snow opened her mouth to either counter her daughter's argument or apologize but Emma continued to talk right over her. "And not to mention, he didn't do anything to _you_. He did it to _me_. He was just a scared little boy, and I don't blame him for leaving. I don't even know if I still blame him for not coming back. Where in the hell do you get off blaming him for me?"

She turned on her heel with every intention of stomping up the stairs. A hand grabbed hers. She spun around, expecting Snow, but it was David who had stopped her. She yanked her hand from his and glared at him, too, even though he hadn't done anything to upset her. "We're all tired and we're all upset," David said, his voice weary, "but you started this conversation, Emma, and I'm not letting you walk away without finishing it."

"Are you seriously giving me a 'we shouldn't go to bed angry' speech?" Emma asked incredulously.

David shrugged, a vaguely amused smile on his lips. "I guess I am." He gestured towards the table, a silent suggestion that they all sit. With a roll of her eyes, Emma flopped down in the same seat she'd occupied during her conversation with August.

Come to think of it, she'd also occupied this seat during her earlier conversation with Snow and David. They, too, took the same seats as before, as if some invisible person had assigned them.

"Emma, I'm sorry," Snow spoke up once they had gotten themselves situated. "I know how hard this is for you–"

"No, you don't," Emma interrupted. "You can't, just like I can't possibly know how hard it is for you. August does know because he lived it, too. It's not exactly the same for him but it's close enough."

She winced at the hurt looks on her parents' faces and then felt a surge of white-hot anger. She was sick of feeling guilty for speaking her mind and tired of pretending that she wasn't hurt and angry. She was furious and goddamn it, she wanted to feel like she could own that anger without causing … this. A never-ending cycle of sit-down conversations where they hashed everything out over and over until they were too worn out to argue anymore.

Emma heaved a sigh. "Look, what I said before still stands. I do understand that you were trying to protect me and I do think that if I were in your shoes, I would have made the same choice. But you have to understand that knowing all that doesn't automatically make it better. Rationally, I know that it wasn't your fault and that you didn't abandon me, but emotionally … the fact remains that my parents should have been there for me and they weren't. That's going to take some time to come to terms with." Finally out of breath, she shut her mouth, sat back, and awaited the fallout.

Snow and David looked at each other. Emma watched in somewhat wide-eyed wonder as they conducted an entire discussion without uttering a single word. Eventually, Snow reached across the table for her daughter's hand. Emma looked at Snow's waiting hand for a moment before slipping hers into it. "I know we have a lot of relationship-building to do, Emma. We can't rewind time, and as hard as it is to admit, the wounds of the past may never heal without leaving some scars. Even still, I'd like to believe that we can mend the present." She darted her eyes to David before looking back at Emma. "I just need to know if you think we can do that."

Emma shifted her gaze to her father and then refocused on Snow. Why couldn't Henry be here for this? He'd given her strength and courage before.

A small, vindictive part of her wanted to tell Snow that it was far too late to repair the damage. Another childish part of her wanted nothing more than to throw herself in her mother's arms and beg for comfort. But it was the larger, more rational part of her that realized that she needed to give a little if she wanted to receive. "I think we can try," she said after a long beat.

Relief visibly washed over Snow, and a smile lit David' eyes. "Thank you," Snow whispered, tightening her grasp on Emma's hand. She held the grip a moment longer and then let go. "You look exhausted, Emma."

"I _feel_ exhausted," Emma agreed. "Is it okay if I go to bed now?"

She'd meant the question sardonically but sarcasm, apparently, was not her forte when she was this tired. The question had come out childlike instead, almost innocent. Snow and David smiled at each other and gave her the okay to go to bed.

Emma pushed herself to her feet and mumbled a good night to her parents. As she climbed the stairs, she found herself wondering how one woman's actions could cause this much destruction. Regina's curse had ripped apart countless families for twenty-eight years. Even though the curse was now broken, something told Emma that they'd all be dealing with the aftereffects for years to come.

She'd intended to fall straight into bed but a whispered conversation between Snow and David made her pause at the top of the stairs. "Our baby's kind of amazing, isn't she?" Snow quietly asked her husband.

"That she is, Snow," David answered, just as quietly. "That she is."

Emma felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and then groaned. Perfect. Now added to her tumbling and confusing emotions when it came to David and Snow was a sense of accomplishment: somehow, someway, she'd made her parents proud.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Again, seriously, you guys rock. I can't tell you how much the awesome feedback y'all have been giving means to me. This chapter was loads of fun and also took a turn that I wasn't expecting when I started writing it (does it weird anyone else out when stories write themselves like that?). As an aside, I have the order of the lyrics so messed up at this point that it's kind of making my brain hurt. Oops? As always, feedback thrills me to pieces! Enjoy. :)

* * *

_Did the promise of day turn cold in the night?  
__You are the light._

* * *

Henry woke to find himself balanced precariously on the edge of his bed, one arm dangling over the mattress and one foot sticking out from under the comforter. A flowered comforter, he realized as the cobwebs of sleep lifted, so not his bed at all. _Huh_, he thought. _Weird._

A perplexed glance at the wall opposite him revealed the dresser he shared with Emma. All right, so at least he was in the loft. That meant he must be in Emma's bed but why on earth had he slept in Emma's bed?

What was the last thing he remembered? The pillow war. No … flopping down on Emma's bed after the pillow war. Aw, man, he must have fallen asleep on her last night! Oops.

He stretched and tried to roll over. His turn was cut short when he crashed right into another warm body. Emma, he realized, who moaned softly at the collision, then squirmed and rolled away from him. When Henry turned his head, the reason he'd woken perched on the edge of the bed immediately became clear. Obviously not used to sharing sleeping space, Emma had taken over most of the bed, leaving him with barely a sliver of the mattress.

She'd also buried herself underneath the covers to the point that he could only see the top of her head. _How can she even breathe under there? _he thought as he peeked over her to check the clock. Snow would probably be coming upstairs in a few minutes to make sure he was up for school but he had a little bit of time to play. Smiling, he pulled the covers off of Emma's face.

The chill of the morning air hit her full force. Her nose wrinkled as she grabbed the comforter and yanked it back up over her head. His grin widening, Henry again tugged it down and whispered her name.

She whimpered, flipping onto her back. Her hand came to rest on the pillow, palm up and fingers curled. Henry murmured her name again while pulling at her fingers.

"Cut it out." Her voice was thick with sleep and her eyes remained closed. She shook her hand away from his and tucked it under the pillow, out of reach. "I'm awake."

"You don't look like you're awake," he teased.

"Mmm." She snuggled deeper under the covers and exhaled through her nose. She was asleep again in a matter of seconds.

Henry narrowed his eyes in thought. Being gentle was clearly not working this morning. Well, if rough was what he needed, he could surely think of something. Deciding to leave her alone for now, he pushed himself off the bed and headed downstairs.

Snow and David were already dressed and seated at the kitchen table. A mug of coffee and a plate of eggs and a grilled English muffin sat in front of each of them. "Good morning, Henry," Snow said warmly.

"Morning!" he called back as he raced to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Is Emma up yet?" David asked when Henry emerged from the bathroom.

His grandparents exchanged a nervous glance at the mention of his mother's name, making Henry frown. "Not yet, but I'm working on her."

At least that got them to laugh. A smile on her face, Snow shooed him back upstairs to make sure Emma was up for work and to get ready for school.

As he climbed the stairs, Henry figured out exactly how to get Emma out of bed. He got dressed first, moving around the loft as quietly as he could. After locating his shoes and running a comb through his hair, he turned his attention to Emma.

She was still lying in the same position as he'd left her, sprawled out on her back in the middle of the bed. "Emma," he called, his voice just this side of singsong. She didn't even flinch. Henry realized with a grin that she was _very_ asleep. Oh, this was going to be _hysterical_!

He stood at the foot of the bed, giggling softly in anticipation. Then he backed up a few paces while cursing the fact that he didn't have the room to take the running start he really wanted. After a couple of preparatory breaths, Henry launched himself at the bed.

He landed hard on the mattress right next to Emma. It bounced violently under the sudden weight, causing Emma to bolt upright with an incoherent string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Her frantic eyes searched the room and finally landed on her son, who had collapsed on the mattress in a fit of laughter. "You should see the look on your face!" he squeaked out before dissolving into another round of giggles.

"Jesus Christ, Henry!" Emma cried, her hand flying to her chest. "You just gave me a freaking heart attack!"

"Emma! Language!" came Snow's vaguely scandalized voice from downstairs, which just set Henry off again.

Emma rolled her eyes at her mother's chastising before throwing a pillow at her son, who was now laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. "I'm glad you find yourself so amusing."

"Oh, come on, Emma," Henry said once he'd caught his breath. "You have to admit, that was pretty funny."

In response, Emma fixed him with an annoyed glare. Henry bit his lower lip to keep from laughing again; he didn't think his stomach could handle another giggle fit.

Once her heart rate returned to normal, Emma pushed the covers off her legs and climbed out of bed. Although she disapproved of her son's methods, she did need to get her day moving. "You should go eat your breakfast," she told Henry.

Henry watched with a frown as she dug a pair of jeans and a top out of the dresser. "What about you?" he asked. She usually ate breakfast with him and then showered and got ready for work after he and Snow left for school. Why was she getting her clothes out now?

"I'll get something at Granny's on the way to the station."

All right, why were the adults acting so odd this morning? First his grandparents had looked at each other funny when they mentioned Emma, and now Emma was going to skip family breakfast. "Did something happen last night?" Henry asked quietly.

Emma turned to look him in the eye. "Why would you ask that?"

"Everyone's acting weird. You're skipping breakfast, and David and Snow seemed nervous or something when I went downstairs. What happened?"

With a heavy sigh, Emma sank back down onto the edge of the bed. "August stopped by last night when Snow and David were out. He was still here when they came back and … well, emotions ran high."

Henry's heart dropped into his stomach. He sat down next to Emma, his shoulders slumping. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"What wasn't?"

"Breaking the curse. It was supposed to bring back the happy endings but it doesn't seem like anyone's happy."

"Oh, kid," Emma said, her voice filled with sympathy. "The curse hurt a lot of people. Everyone's angry and upset right now but things will settle down in time. You just have to be patient."

Henry looked at her, searching her face for signs that she was merely humoring him. He couldn't tell, so he eventually asked, "Do you really think that, or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

Emma didn't know how to answer. On some level, she had been saying it to soothe her son. The rush of emotion gripping Storybrooke in the wake of the curse would slow over time, of course, but it might never fade away completely. People might be able to forgive but they would never forget. The concept of some wounds being too deep to heal was not something Emma knew how to explain to a ten-year-old.

"Look, Henry," she said after a long moment, "I can't speak for everyone and I can't predict the future. Some things are going to be hard to get over, and some things … some things you just can't get over. Not completely. But you know what I do know?"

"What's that?" Henry asked.

She reached for his hand and grasped it in hers. "Two weeks ago, nobody in this town knew who they really were. Families were torn apart and friends were separated. Everyone was walking around here in a daze, all of them searching for happiness and all of them unable to find it. But now, everyone's together again. They have control over their own lives. They have a chance at happiness. And you know who they have to thank for that?"

"You," he answered, a small smile on his face.

"No," Emma told him with a shake of her head. "They have you to thank for that, Henry."

Henry tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brow. "Me? What did I do?"

"Are you kidding?" Emma asked. "If it hadn't been for your belief and your courage, the curse might never have broken. You ate a poisoned apple to prove to me that the curse was real, and by the way, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll kill you myself." He grinned at her, and she smiled back. "The point is, you have no idea how brave that was."

"I knew you'd save me," Henry shrugged.

"No, Henry, you _believed_ I'd save you," Emma corrected. "You believed in the curse when no one else did. You believed in _me_, and no one else ever has. It was your faith in me that put me on the path to breaking the curse. Without you, I never would have done it."

"Yes, you would have," he insisted. "You would have because you're the savior."

"I may be their savior, Henry, but …" She trailed off, her voice choking up. She took a deep breath and started again. "But I think you're mine."

Tears leaped into Henry's eyes. He wrapped his arms around Emma and squeezed. After a moment, he felt her return the embrace. He held her in the hug for a long beat and when he let go, he saw that she was blinking back tears of her own. "All right, kid," she said, attempting to shake off her emotions. "Let's go down to breakfast."

She stood first and held out her hand. He grasped it, threading their fingers together, and smiled up at her.

They descended the stairs and greeted Snow and David. "I'm assuming you two want your usual?" Snow asked, rising from her seat at the table.

"Yes, please!" Henry exclaimed. Emma, who still hadn't quite regained control of her voice, simply nodded.

Snow gave an indulgent roll of her eyes as she pulled the box of cereal from the cabinet. It seemed that Henry had inherited Emma's sweet tooth along with her stubbornness. They both favored sugary breakfast cereals, much to Snow's dismay. The current favorite was Lucky Charms, though Cocoa Puffs and Froot Loops were tied for a close second. "One of these days," Snow sighed as she placed the cereal on the table between Henry and Emma, "I'll get you two to eat a real breakfast."

"And what exactly is wrong with Lucky Charms?" Emma asked, winking at Henry. He grinned; clearly, she'd gotten her emotions back under control. "They're magically delicious!"

Henry clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his giggle. "Nothing's wrong with them when you have one bowl at a time," Snow replied. "It's just that you could demolish that entire box in one sitting without breaking a sweat."

"Hey, I'm a growing boy!" Henry piped up.

Emma smiled at him, encouraging the teasing. She poured cereal right to the top of her bowl. "I have no excuse; I just like marshmallows." She poured the milk carefully so as not to overflow the bowl and passed the jug to Henry. "It could be worse, you know," she said to her mother. "We could be demolishing an entire box of Toaster Strudels."

"What are Toaster Strudels?" Henry asked.

Emma looked at him like he had three heads. Regina had never allowed the kid to taste the sugary deliciousness that was a Toaster Strudel? That woman was truly evil. "You really don't know what they are?"

When Henry shook his head, Emma clucked her tongue in disapproval. "That's a travesty! I'm picking up a box at the grocery store on the way home tonight, then. We'll each have one for dessert or something. No son of mine is going through life without ever eating a Toaster Strudel."

David, who had been watching the entire exchange with an amused smile, laughed out loud. Snow just shook her head. "You two are absolutely impossible."

"Oh, you know you love us," Emma teased before digging into her cereal.

Snow met her husband's eye and grinned. Softly, because this light mood of Emma's would likely vanish if she heard, Snow murmured, "Yes, I do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Holy crap, you guys, y'all exploded my inbox with your reviews for that last chapter! Thank you! Here's some daddy/daughter time, mostly because I kind of can't wait to see some onscreen. Let me know what you think!

* * *

_You're only broken on the outside,  
__You're shivering but the warmth will come back._

* * *

The increasing intensity of the rumbling in Emma's stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten a single thing since her bowl of Lucky Charms. Breakfast was how long ago? A quick glance at the corner of her computer screen provided the answer: six freaking hours. A mere bowl of cereal, even one as comically large as the one she'd poured that morning, was not enough to sustain a person for that long. Unfortunately her day had been crazy – the five messages she found on the machine regarding August's 1950s-inspired activity outside her window the previous night hadn't helped – and she hadn't had a chance to go out and grab lunch.

She had just picked up the phone to put in an order for delivery from Granny's – savior perk – when she smelled French fries. She might have mistaken the aroma as some kind of olfactory hallucination brought on by starvation if not for the male voice she heard humming a second later.

Setting the receiver back in its cradle, she focused on the humming. The tune was familiar to her but she couldn't quite place it. When David came around the corner carrying a bag of takeout, the song finally clicked. "Why in the hell are you humming 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary?'" she asked him.

"Is that what song it is? I heard it somewhere and now I can't get it out of my head." He gave his daughter a smile. "Do you know anything else about it?"

Emma shook her head. "The only reason I know it at all is because of the old _Peanuts_ cartoons."

"There are cartoons about peanuts?"

The bewildered look on his face indicated that he was not kidding. "I seriously need to get you guys caught up on pop culture," Emma muttered, rolling her eyes. "The cartoon's not about peanuts. It's called_ Peanuts_. You know, Charlie Brown and Snoopy?"

"Oh!" Recognition lit his eyes. "If you had said Charlie Brown, I would have gotten it. I just didn't know those comic strips had a collective name."

Emma shook her head. "Well, at least you've heard of it. Between that and Henry never having had a Toaster Strudel, I was getting ready to disown all of you."

"Speaking of," David said. He shifted the takeout bag in his arms to reveal a small grocery bag Emma hadn't even seen. He set it down on her desk with a smile. "They only had apple cinnamon and blueberry. Considering this family's history with apples, I figured blueberry was the better bet."

She peeked into the bag and a felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. A box of Toaster Strudels stared up at her. "The blueberry ones are actually my favorite. Thank you."

"Just don't tell Snow I bought them for you, and we'll call it even," he replied with a wink.

Emma snickered. "Gotcha." Her stomach rumbled again, forcing her to shift her attention to the delicious-smelling takeout in her father's hand. "I don't mean to sound rude since you are enabling my sugar addiction and all, but if you don't get out of here with that food, I'm going to tear into it myself. I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm _starving_."

He plopped the bag down on her desk and opened it, releasing an even stronger French fry aroma. "It's a good thing this food's for you, then."

"You brought me lunch?" she asked, her suspicion rising. What was the catch? There had to be one; in her experience, people didn't just buy her food out of the goodness of their hearts.

"I brought _us_ lunch," he corrected. "You only get it if you agree to eat with me."

Ah, see? She knew it. There _was_ a catch. "You're holding my food hostage."

"I am indeed." The sparkle in his eye told her that he had no regrets or qualms about holding her food hostage, either. "So, what do you say? Will you have lunch with me?"

Emma wanted desperately to remain indignant over the fact that he was issuing her an ultimatum but the fries smelled so good that she could practically taste them already. Her stomach growled loudly, and she gave an exasperated huff. "Fine. I'll have lunch with you, but this decision was made under duress."

"So noted," he grinned. He pulled a chair up to her desk and handed one of the Styrofoam containers to Emma while keeping the other for himself. With an amused smile, he watched her tear into the container with all the fervor of a small child on Christmas morning.

Inside was a grilled cheese sandwich with a heaping order of fries and a small cup of coleslaw. Emma grinned as she tore open a few ketchup packets and proceeded to blanket her fries with the condiment. David snickered. "I take it you approve?"

She would have answered but her mouth was full of French fry, so she just nodded. "This is the best lunch ever," she said once she'd swallowed.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, even though I know it's only coming from the fact that I could hear your stomach grumbling out in the hallway."

"I swear it's not," Emma replied. "I don't know how you managed to get my favorite lunch down to a T, but thank you."

"Don't mention it." David opened his own container to reveal a turkey sandwich and a small bag of sour cream and onion chips.

Emma looked from her fat-filled meal to his comparatively healthy one. She felt guilty for all of a second and a half and then shrugged it off. Whatever, grilled cheese and fries were delicious, and coleslaw counted as a vegetable. Sort of. "Can I ask you something?" she asked as she stood up to pour them both something to drink from the water cooler.

"You can ask me anything, Emma."

"Do you miss it?" She handed him a small cup of water before sitting back down and setting her own cup next to the takeout container.

"Do I miss what?"

She swirled a French fry around in a puddle of ketchup. David had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her to stop playing with her food. "The Enchanted Forest."

"Sometimes," he answered, opting for honesty. "Some things about that world were great. The wide open spaces, the fresh air. I miss the quiet the most. No cars driving by or radios playing or the constant hum of a refrigerator. On the other hand, I think I'd miss electricity and hot showers more." When he caught her eye, he was pleased to see a small smile on her lips. "And I'd miss potato chips."

"All right, now you're just being ridiculous," Emma smirked.

"No, really! Whoever invented sour cream and onion chips is a genius and should be given a medal of some kind. Oh, and popcorn, too. What's that cheese popcorn stuff you make Snow buy?"

"Smartfood?"

"I'd definitely miss Smartfood."

Emma snickered. "I kind of wanted a serious answer, here."

"I am serious, Emma," he said. The teasing lilt was gone from his voice, and he looked at her with wise eyes. "I do miss the Enchanted Forest, but what good would it do to spend my life yearning for what I've lost? Dwelling on the past is what caused all this in the first place. Being unable or unwilling to move forward is how people like Regina happen. No matter how we got here, Storybrooke is home now. Because home isn't defined by physical surroundings; it's wherever you can be with the people you love."

As he talked, Emma had leaned back in her chair and was now staring down at her food. "I didn't know when I agreed to this lunch that it would come with life lessons."

"I missed out on twenty-eight years of giving you life lessons," he replied with a sad and gentle smile. "I have to make up for lost time."

Unable to think of a proper response, Emma picked up one half of her sandwich. The cheese was perfectly melted, the bread was nice and crispy, and the first bite was pretty much divine. "I don't know how they do it," she said around a mouthful of grilled cheese, "but every sandwich I get at Granny's is better than the one before."

"Ah, deflection." David reached over and stole one of Emma's French fries. "We've gotten into uncomfortable-for-Emma territory, so now you're changing the subject."

Emma froze, her eyes narrowing. How had a joking conversation about the differences between the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke progressed to this point? Trying to keep her anger at a minimum, she said, "You're being very forward all of a sudden."

He paused as if trying to convince himself that he did in fact want to continue down this road, then set his shoulders and nodded. "Yes, I am. Someone has to, and it might as well be me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Uh uh, it's my turn to ask you a question."

"I don't recall agreeing to take turns." Emma slouched in her chair, grabbed a French fry, and stabbed it into the ketchup.

He gave no response to her darkening mood. Truth be told, the darkening mood was a good thing. Sometimes he thought that the only way to get Emma to speak her mind was to make her angry. "You do realize that if this conversation were happening between you and Snow, you would have shut it down by now, don't you?"

As a matter of fact, she hadn't realized. Not until he pointed it out. "So? What's your point?"

"Why do you think it's easier for you to talk to me than it is for you to talk to her? And before you ask, no, she didn't put me up to this. She has no idea I'm even here."

Emma frowned; that was a really good question. Why _was_ it easier to talk to David? _Really_ talk, not the silly little banter she and Snow had shared at breakfast. She took another bite of her sandwich; totally a stalling tactic, and from the look on David' face, he knew it.

"I don't really know," she said eventually. "I guess it's because you and I sort of have a fresh start. I didn't know you – well, David Nolan, I mean – all that well. But Snow … every time I look at her, I see Mary Margaret but only sort of. I see her and I don't, and I have no freaking clue how to deal with that. I _liked_ Mary Margaret, and just when I think I'm coming to terms with the fact that she's gone forever, Snow will do something that's so Mary Margaret that it physically hurts." She sighed and gave him a half-hearted shrug. "I guess I just wish things were the way they were before. I want my friend and my roommate back."

"But by the end of it, you weren't just friends and roommates, were you?" David asked, his voice soft, almost as if he was afraid of spooking Emma out of talking. "You'd started thinking of her as family."

Emma rolled her eyes. It figured Snow would have told David that Emma had slipped and called Mary Margaret family. "Yeah, I had. In a way, that makes it harder. The woman I'd come to think of as family is gone, and someone I don't know replaced her. Someone who looks just like her and sounds just like her but whose personality is completely different."

"You're mourning her loss," he breathed, his eyes widening in realization.

"I guess I am," she replied, fidgeting uncomfortably in the chair. "You're no piece of cake, either, by the way. David Nolan did kind of annoy me – admittedly, mostly by proxy due to all the grief he caused Mary Margaret – but he was a good guy who was just trying to protect everyone's feelings. I miss him, too."

David was silent for a long moment before asking, "But I'm better than David Nolan, right?"

He'd injected his voice with that teasing lilt again and Emma chuckled, grateful that he'd broken the tension. "Much better." She learned forward in the chair and made a grab for one of his chips. "All right, my turn to ask a question. Will you teach me how to sword fight?"

He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly not expecting that. "From what I heard, you did quite well in that department all on your own."

"Please, anyone can chuck a sword at a dragon." She paused, then shook her head when she realized what she had said. No doubt about it, her life had taken more than a couple turns off the beaten path over the past few days. "Will you teach me how to fight properly?"

"Sure, if you want me to."

"Thanks." She smiled, then groaned inwardly when she felt happy butterflies flitting around in her stomach. Emma Swan did not do happy butterflies in the stomach. Not at all. This family thing was making her soft.

"You're welcome. My turn: why do you want to learn how to properly fight with a sword?"

Oh, she had a reason. Not that she wanted to tell him. "Swords are badass," she said instead. "Who doesn't want to learn how to properly fight with a sword?"

David took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. "The real reason, not the sarcastic-Emma reason."

"I don't think I like this game anymore," she said, frowning. The expression on his face instantly stopped her grumbling. It was a look that plainly indicated that she was going to answer the question whether she liked it or not, and it was nothing short of magic. "Forget the sword thing. Can you teach me how to do that? You've been a parent for a little over a week and you've already got the exasperated, no-more-nonsense thing down pat."

He allowed a quiet chuckle at his daughter's wonder before once again prompting her to answer.

"Fine," Emma muttered with a roll of her eyes. "Regina's not going to stay in hiding forever. I spend every second of every day looking over my shoulder, waiting for her to show up again. With magic in the mix now, I don't know what she'll be able to do, and I need to have some way to protect Henry." After a brief pause, she added, "And I wasn't lying. Swords are badass."

David searched her face, trying to figure out what was beneath her desire to fight magic with swordplay. "You think you won't be able to protect Henry unless you can fight with a sword?"

"No, it's not that," Emma insisted. "That'd be like bringing a knife to a gunfight. I guess I just don't want her to think that it's going to be like it was before, where she was constantly a step or two ahead of me. I want her to realize that I'm being proactive. That I know who she is now … _what_ she is now, and that I'm going to fight like hell to protect what's mine."

"You don't have to fight her alone, Emma," he gently reminded her. "You've got us and Henry. Hell, you've got a whole town full of people behind you. I'll teach you sword fighting if you really want to learn, but I don't want you to feel like you have to learn just to feel safe."

Emma didn't know how to respond to that. After years of people only supporting her when they wanted something from her, the notion of unconditional support was foreign and vaguely disconcerting. So she just smiled. "Noted. My turn again. Why did you decide to bring me lunch today?"

"Is it a bad thing that I want to get to know my daughter?" He reached over and grabbed another of her fries since she'd stolen more than a few of his chips. "Like you said, you didn't know me all that well, which means I don't know you all that well. Snow knows you a lot better than I do because of her time as Mary Margaret. Sometimes I'm a little jealous of her, like when she can tell just by your body language how to respond to you. I just wanted to even the playing field a bit."

He smirked when he noticed that Emma had gone back to swirling one of her last remaining fries in the ketchup. One day, she'd be comfortable enough with him to maintain eye contact throughout a whole conversation. "For instance, right now she'd probably tell me that I've pushed you enough for one meal and that if we must continue this game, I should ask silly questions instead." That got her to look up warily. "So my next question is: Charlie Brown isn't just a comic strip?"

Emma chuckled in relief. "Nope. There were TV specials and even a full-length movie or two."

"Huh," David said, giving her a wink. "Who knew?"

Grinning, Emma tried to come up with her own silly question. Unfortunately, the phone rang before she could even formulate a thought. She grabbed the receiver and listened to the frantic voice on the other end. "All right, I'll be right there," she said and then hung up, turning an apologetic look on her father.

"Sheriff emergency?" he asked.

"Sheriff duty," she corrected. "I don't think it's an emergency as much as it is the usual post-curse chaos, but I do have to go check it out."

She started collecting the trash on her desk. There were a couple of chips left in David' container and a few straggling fries lined the bottom of hers. David took the containers from her and packed them both into the bag. "I'll take care of it. You go do what you have to do."

"Thanks," she said, giving him a smile. "For lunch and for cleaning up."

"Any time."

In the doorway to her office, she turned around, her hand on the doorjamb. "Hey, David?"

"Yes?"

Her voice was soft when she said, "Thanks for the talk, too."

David smiled at his daughter. "You're welcome, Emma."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Honestly, guys, your response to this story has been overwhelming. Yahoo has pretty much just thrown its hands up in the air and shaken its head over the sheer amount of notifications I've been getting, haha. I am, however, faced with a conundrum. I'm running out of lyrics and, more importantly, time. I haven't posted a story as I've written it in ages and I'm afraid of losing inspiration on this sucker once the premiere renders it all moot. ;) I figure I've got time (and ideas) for two more chapters, and I promise the last chapter is going to be rather epic. :)

* * *

_Are you burning the days just to get through the nights?_

* * *

When Emma finally turned the key in the lock of the sheriff's station door, she let out a breath of relief. Her afternoon had been just as busy as the morning. Fridays were not supposed to be like this. Fridays were supposed to be if not relaxing then at least some semblance of fun. She hated Fridays like the one she'd just survived, and she absolutely hated hating Fridays. Hating Fridays was just … wrong. She couldn't wait to get home, put her feet up, and maybe twist Henry's arm into playing a game of cards.

In other words, recover from her insane Friday.

She had just opened her car door when she heard someone calling her name. "Ugh, now what?" she grumbled under her breath, turning in the direction of the voice.

August waved at her from about a hundred feet away. Rolling her eyes, Emma yelled, "Five freaking messages!"

"What?" August asked as he jogged to a stop in front of her, slightly out of breath from his run down the sidewalk.

"I walked in to find five messages on the machine about you standing outside the apartment building last night." August snorted, then bit his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. Emma fixed him with one of her best death glares. "So, you know, thanks for that."

"Maybe you should answer your phone next time," he said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Maybe you shouldn't call me when I'm sleeping next time," she returned.

He arched a single eyebrow at her. "It was nine-thirty when I started calling, Emma. Last time I checked, you're not Henry's age. How was I supposed to know that you were sleeping?"

"Perhaps the fact that I didn't answer the phone or come to the window after a couple of minutes should have been your first clue."

"Okay," August snickered, raising his hands in surrender, "I'm obviously not going to win this one. Besides, I didn't come here to argue."

"Banter," Emma corrected, then huffed when he gave her a confused frown. "We're not arguing. We're bantering."

A smile crept onto his lips. "Now you want to argue over whether or not we're arguing?"

That got her to pause, at least for a moment. "I'm just saying. Arguing implies anger or frustration. Bantering, not so much."

"You're not frustrated with me? Not even a tiny little bit?"

"I'm not frustrated," she insisted with a shake her head. "More like … exasperated."

"There's a difference?" he asked. The mischievous twinkle in his eye told her that he was being annoying on purpose.

Emma pressed a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes for a brief moment. "August, it's been a long day. What do you want?"

"I tried to tell you what I wanted, but then you went off on your arguing versus bantering tangent," he teased. Her eyes darkened, and all of a sudden, he understood the difference between exasperation and frustration. She was beginning to actually get aggravated as opposed to only pretending to be aggravated. Quickly turning serious, he said, "I just wanted to make sure everything went okay after I left last night."

She heaved a sigh as she closed the car door. Clearly, this was not going to be a quick-and-done chat. "Things were … a little rough. I got mad at Snow for getting mad at you. Then David made us sit down and talk. Let me tell you, I'm getting really tired of sitting down and talking."

August smirked at the derision in her tone. "Emma, sitting down and talking is the healthy way of working through conflict."

"Yeah, well," she muttered, digging at a patch of dirt with the toe of her boot, "I'd much rather yell and then stew over it for a while."

"Does yelling and then stewing over it ever make you feel better, though?"

Emma met his gaze, silently cursing him for once again bringing logic into their discussion. He did that a lot, and it was beginning to irritate the crap out of her. "Not really, no, but sitting down and talking doesn't make me feel better, either. It just makes me tired."

He took a deep breath and looked her over, trying to decide how to proceed. She'd actually handled everything far better than he had anticipated when he was first getting to know her. Which was great for her, truly, but not so great for him. Now he had idea where her tipping point would be. How much further could he push before it became entirely too much for her?

Luckily he didn't have to wonder too long; she provided the perfect opening for him. "He brought me lunch today. David, I mean. Actually, he sort of coerced me into having lunch with him." She tore her gaze from his. "I ended up asking him to teach me how to sword fight."

His eyebrows shot up. He hadn't expected her to take a step like that for a while. "Really?"

"It kind of just slipped out," she said with an uncomfortable shrug. "Gold – or Rumpelstiltskin … _God_, that's so weird – told me that the sword I took down to the dragon was his. And I figured that since I do want to learn, who better to teach me?"

"The fact that he's your father is incidental," August added, a knowing smirk on his lips. Why couldn't she just admit that she wanted her dad to teach her something?

She fidgeted, kicking at a stone on the ground. "Maybe."

All right, he had begun to venture into pushing-way-too-hard country. Time to dial it back a little. "Did he say when the lessons were going to start?"

Emma shook her head. "We didn't get that far but I'm assuming either tomorrow or Sunday. Why?"

He grinned at her, that mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes once again. "I might want to watch."

"Oh my God, you are _not_ watching," she groaned. "I'm going to get my ass handed to me on a silver platter. The last thing I need is an audience."

"Aw, c'mon." He had no idea why he enjoyed teasing her so much. Maybe because she gave just as good as she got. "I can sit on the sidelines and cheer you on … maybe even make a little 'Let's go, Emma!' banner or something. Wouldn't that be nice?"

If looks could kill, August would have been dead about ten times over. "I swear, _Pinocchio_. If you do anything remotely like that, you'll be getting the tip of my sword right through your eye."

Chuckling, he once again raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine, you don't want an audience. I can appreciate that." He paused and waited until she met his gaze before continuing. "Just think about this. Did you think even a day or two ago that you would have ever asked him to teach you sword fighting techniques?"

"No," Emma replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can safely say I would never have predicted that I would ask Prince Charming for sword fighting lessons. What's your point?"

He gave her a gentle smile. "That maybe sitting down and talking is helping a lot more than you realize. You're obviously getting more comfortable with them. That exhaustion you feel when you're done with one of those conversations? It's called catharsis. It's a good thing, Emma."

Emma's eyes narrowed, and she found herself wondering why the hell she'd felt the need to save him in the first place. "You know, if I wanted psychobabble, I'd go talk to Archie. Jiminy. Whatever the hell his name is." Any freaking day now, she would really like to stop having issues with people's names.

"It's just something to think about."

"Fine. I'll think about it."

"That's all I can ask," August said with a tiny smile. He nodded at her car. "I've kept you long enough, Sheriff. Go on home to your family."

He walked away before she could protest. He was seriously going to get her all riled up and then just take off before she could properly vent? Good God, that man was maddening!

She climbed into her car and slammed the door closed. After turning the key in the ignition and shifting into reverse, she slammed her foot on the gas pedal and whipped the car out of her parking space. The tires squealed as she hit the brakes. Then she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.

Gunning her engine and driving down the streets of Storybrooke as fast as she dared was not the most mature of ways to deal with her anger. Besides, if, God forbid, she got into even a minor accident, Henry and Snow and David would worry, and she didn't think she'd ever be able to forgive herself.

That realization brought her up short. She actually had people who would worry about her now, people who cared what happened to her. Obviously she cared about them, too, or they wouldn't have factored into her decision at all.

Maybe August was right – not that she'd ever admit that to him. Maybe the sitting and talking actually was making a difference. After another couple of deep breaths, she shifted the car into gear and took off for the apartment.

For … home.

She didn't quite know what she expected to find when she entered the apartment but walking right into the middle of a cooking lesson was not it. The air smelled of simmering tomato sauce, and Snow had Henry kneeling on a chair at the counter as she assembled ingredients for dinner. "Mmm, that smells so good," Emma said, inhaling deeply as she shrugged off her jacket. "What are you guys making?"

"Lazy man's lasagna!" Henry exclaimed.

"Also known as baked ziti," Snow laughed. "We're just getting started, if you want to join us."

"You know me and my history with cooking firsthand," Emma said with raised eyebrows, thinking of all the times poor Mary Margaret had woken up to the scent of burnt eggs. And then there was the one time Emma had accidentally set the microwave for twenty minutes instead of two and spent a good half-hour scrubbing the exploded soup off the inside of the machine. "You really want my help?"

"The great thing about casseroles and dishes like them is that they're very hard to screw up." Snow gave Emma a warm smile and waved her over to the counter. "This is really just boiling some pasta, tossing it with some sauce and ricotta and sour cream, and sprinkling cheese on top."

The hopeful look in Snow's eyes betrayed her dismissive tone. She clearly wanted Emma to stick around for the lesson more than anything. Emma remained silent for a brief moment, then nodded. "Sounds easy enough. You might want to have a backup plan, though. Just in case I manage to … I don't know, burn the sauce or something."

"If you do manage to burn the sauce, we'll just call out for pizza," Snow assured her.

"So it's a win-win," Henry said with a teasing grin.

Emma stuck her tongue out at her son, who snickered in response. When she walked over next to Snow to wash her hands at the sink, she caught Henry winking at Snow out of the corner of her eye. Hmm, why did she get the feeling that the two of them had planned from the start to gently coerce her into helping with dinner?

Twenty-eight years of working with small children had taught Snow patience, which was a very good thing indeed when she had two novices helping her prepare the evening meal. She had to instruct Henry to turn the heat down under the sauce and cover the pot before it started bubbling all over the place, and Emma allowed the pasta pot to boil over twice.

Once the pasta was cooked and drained, she showed them how to assemble the casserole. It ended up a little lopsided, with too much cheese and sour cream on one side and too much pasta on the other. Snow managed to even it out while thanking her lucky stars she hadn't chosen to prepare an actual lasagna.

"And now we wait," she said as she slid the casserole into the oven to bake. Emma, who did not mistake the relief in Snow's tone, smiled to herself.

"So how'd we do?" Henry asked, his eyes shining.

Snow shot Emma a helpless look, causing her to laugh out loud. "At least we didn't burn the sauce, kid," Emma said, ruffling her son's hair.

Before Henry could say another word, David entered the apartment, still humming "It's a Long Way to Tipperary." "Seriously with that song?" Emma asked.

"It won't go away," he shrugged. "I don't know what else to do."

"Listen to something else," Emma instructed. "_Anything_ else." Then she noticed he had a grocery bag in his hand. She almost asked him how many times a day he went to the grocery store but caught herself in time. His Toaster Strudel run from earlier was supposed to be a secret between father and daughter.

Henry's eyes lit up at his grandfather's entrance. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, climbing down off the chair and running towards David.

Emma turned a bewildered look on Snow, who simply winked at her. "That depends, young Henry," David teased. "What do you think it is?"

"What we talked about earlier?" Henry was so excited by now that he was practically jumping up and down. "It has to be, right?"

"Hmm, maybe. Why don't you see for yourself?" He handed the bag to his grandson, who ran back to the counter to set it down and peek inside.

"Yes!" Henry cried as he pulled out a carton of chocolate chip ice cream and a jar of microwavable hot fudge. "We _do_ get to make our own sundaes!" The final two items in the bag followed: a can of whipped cream and a small bottle of rainbow sprinkles.

Emma's grin was almost as wide as Henry's. She didn't quite understand why Snow would bemoan their sugar-filled breakfast and then allow a make-your-own-sundae party for dessert later that same day, but she was not about to question it. A nice, towering hot fudge sundae was the best way she could think of to end her super-crazy Friday.

She helped Henry put away the sundae fixings for the time being before turning to her father. "So, about those lessons. Can we start tomorrow?"

"Sure, if you want to," David told her. "We'll get an early start in the morning."

"Not too early. It's Saturday," Emma reminded him. "I might try to sleep in a little, as long as _someone_ doesn't take another flying leap at my bed."

Henry shot her a faux-innocent smile while choking back a giggle at that morning's mischief. Then he asked, "What lessons?"

"It seems Emma wants to learn the finer points of sword fighting," David answered.

Snow raised her eyebrows at her husband, who gave her an almost imperceptible shrug while smiling at her. Neither of them had expected Emma to ask them to teach her anything. Snow smiled back. At the mention of swords, Henry's eyes lit up. "Cool! Can I come?"

David gave his assent at the same time as Emma cried, "No way!" Father and daughter stared at each other, silently trying to work out a compromise. Eventually, David nodded, letting Emma know that the decision was hers.

However, when she looked down at Henry's excited face, Emma didn't have the heart to tell him he couldn't come. "You can watch," she relented. "Watching only, Henry. You will not be fighting with, holding, or even touching a sword. You got it?"

"Got it," Henry nodded. Then he turned, grabbed a drinking straw from where Snow had set them on the counter, and mimicked fencing moves as he ran to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.

David chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm, but Emma rolled her eyes and heaved another sigh. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** In my mind, this is the conversation Snow's been waiting to have since the second chapter of "Can You Help Me." It's certainly the conversation I've been wanting to write since the second chapter of "Can You Help Me," haha. Feedback is love! Let me know what you think. :)

* * *

_If the years blow away to just sand and rain,  
__We will still find a place 'cause love breaks through._

* * *

An aggravated groan escaped Emma's lips as she kicked the comforter off her legs. She'd been tossing and turning for close to three hours now. The one time she'd almost dozed off, one of those damn falling dreams had startled her awake. She hated those things with a burning passion.

Well, she hated them with a burning passion tonight. Most of the time, a falling dream was just a minor annoyance that made falling asleep take a few minutes longer than normal. Tonight, though, it was one of the worst things that had ever happened to her. Some kind of cruel joke from a capricious god who thought it was oh so amusing when the humans startled themselves silly.

Watching the minutes tick by had clearly begun to irritate her. Irritation was not exactly conducive to sleep, so she decided to listen to the conventional wisdom regarding occasional insomnia and get up for a few minutes. After checking on Henry – who, Emma noted jealously, was sleeping like the dead – she headed downstairs to … well, she didn't quite know, but definitely do something other than lie in bed.

She smelled the cocoa when she was halfway down the metal staircase. Following the scent, she found Snow seated at the kitchen table with a mug in front of her. "Can't sleep, either?" Emma asked a little unnecessarily as she plopped down at the table across from her.

"Nope." Snow smiled warmly before standing and pouring Emma some cocoa of her own. She added a cinnamon stick as a finishing touch and handed the mug to her daughter before easing back into her chair. "I can't get my brain to turn off."

"Gee, I can't imagine why," Emma retorted dryly. She looked up and met Snow's gaze, suddenly turning serious. "It's been a hell of a week and a half, huh?"

"Understatement of the millennium, my dear." This time Snow's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sorry it's all been so hard on you."

It was on the tip of Emma's tongue to insist it was fine but she couldn't seem to force out the words. It _wasn't_ fine. Things were so the opposite of fine that Emma wasn't sure fine even existed anymore.

However, like it or not and no matter how hard it was to wrap her head around, this was her life now. She was the daughter of fairy tale characters, savior of the residents of the Enchanted Forest. Magic was real … and, when used improperly, dangerous. Railing against it all would only make things worse. "It hasn't exactly been a cakewalk for you, either," she said instead.

The two women fell into a comfortable silence. They sipped their cocoa, lost in their own thoughts. If Emma tried, she could almost pretend this was just one of those late nights with Mary Margaret, the two of them sipping cinnamon-laced cocoa and comforting each other simply with their presence.

"You know, I've missed this," Emma murmured.

Snow looked at her with wide eyes, her surprise evident. "You've missed what?"

Emma winced, mentally kicking herself for speaking out loud. Two-thirty in the morning was not exactly the best time to have this conversation, not that Emma wanted to have it in the first place. As she briefly met Snow's eyes, though, she realized that they _needed_ to have this conversation. Neither one of them would be able to move forward until they did.

She took a deep breath to prepare herself for the likely barrage of emotions to come and let it out slowly. "I miss Mary Margaret. I miss doing things with her, talking to her, sitting around drinking cocoa with her." She shrugged, looking away from Snow and staring down at her cocoa instead. "I don't know. I'm not making sense."

"You're making perfect sense," Snow replied, her voice soft. "You think I don't miss Emma-the-roommate? You think I don't wish I could look at you and just see my friend instead of seeing the precious baby girl I never got to watch grow up?"

Emma made herself small in her chair. Why hadn't she seen that this … whatever it was – she really needed to come up with some kind of name or descriptor for the events of the past week and a half – had been just as hard on Snow as it had on her? The breaking of the curse had reunited their family, yes, but it had also taken a good friend from both of them.

"I miss when we were comfortable with each other," Snow continued. Tears welled in her eyes, causing her to blink rapidly. "I miss being able to talk to you without agonizing over every word and wondering if I'm making you feel worse. We have a history with each other that should make this easy, but it feels like we're starting over from scratch. Only this time, those walls of yours aren't just walls. This time, they're a steel fortress."

Shutting her eyes against swiftly forming tears, Emma slumped in the chair. She ran her thumbs up and down the warm ceramic of the mug, trying to think of something – anything – to say. She had nothing, but that was fine. She would probably start crying if she tried to talk right now anyway.

"I'm not trying to push, Emma," Snow said, her gentle voice forcing Emma to open her eyes. "I'm just being honest. If it's too much, let me know, and I'll stop."

"It is too much," Emma admitted, trying to keep the emotional tremor out of her voice, "but don't stop. I think we need it."

Snow gave her a tiny smile. She shifted in the chair to make herself a little more comfortable. "I think we need it, too. I know you've got the walls to protect yourself. I can't even fathom how much pain you must have endured in order to erect them so strongly, and it kills me more than you'll ever know that I'm to blame for it."

In an attempt to spare Snow's feelings, Emma started to insist that the blame didn't lie with Snow. But the blame _did_ lie with her – at least partially – and Snow had been honest before, so she stopped herself. If Snow hadn't sent her through that wardrobe, Emma wouldn't have ended up here all alone. She wouldn't have ended up in the system. Wouldn't have spent her life believing that she was unlovable, wouldn't have spent all that time and aggravation searching for – and failing to find – answers.

God, if Snow hadn't sent her through that wardrobe …

Then, the pieces shifted and suddenly fit together.

If Snow hadn't sent her through that wardrobe, she would have been trapped as a squalling newborn for eternity. If Regina had even allowed her to live in the first place. There would have been no family, no love, no happiness. No Snow White or Prince Charming or grown-up Emma … or Henry.

Emma swiped at her eyes in a vain attempt to quell the gathering tears. "Oh my God."

"Emma? What's going on?"

Snow's voice sounded far away but it was enough to ground Emma. She looked up to find Snow reaching across the table, palm up. Without a second thought, she grabbed Snow's hand and held onto it tightly. "Henry. He's the one good thing I've done, and if you hadn't put me in that wardrobe, he wouldn't be here."

"Oh, Emma," Snow whispered, tightening her grip on Emma's hand. The look on her face indicated that she wanted to wrap Emma in her arms and hold on tight but knew it was too soon for that kind of contact. "Listen to me. Henry is _not_ the only good thing you've done. You broke the curse. You saved the town. You fought a _dragon_."

A ghost of a smirk pulled at Emma's lips, causing Snow to smile softly as she continued. "And somehow, despite all the adversity in your life, you grew up to be a wonderful, strong, beautiful woman that I am lucky to even know, never mind call my family. You're a fighter. You don't back down and you don't give up. Anyone would thank the gods to have you in their corner." She paused, taking a breath. "I haven't told you this before because I didn't think you were ready, but … I am so proud of you, Emma, and I grow prouder of you every day."

The tears in Emma's eyes finally spilled over. She shook her hand free from Snow's and wiped the tears from her cheeks only to have new ones take their place. "That was really unfair," she said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Waiting until I'm already emotional to lay something like that on me."

Snow giggled lightly as she leaned back in the chair, giving Emma time to compose herself. "I know it was unfair of me," she said once Emma's tears stopped, "but I needed to say it and, whether or not you want to admit it, you needed to hear it."

Emma gave an uncomfortable nod. She hadn't even known she'd needed to hear those words until Snow spoke them. Once they were out, though, she realized she'd been waiting to hear them all her life. "Look, I'm not all that great at the knowing-what-to-say thing, and I really wish I could be more eloquent here but … thanks. For saying that."

"You're very welcome, Emma," Snow said.

She let out a shaky breath. "The fact remains, though, that if you hadn't sent me here, Henry wouldn't be here, either. You saved me and you saved my son in the process. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for that."

A touched smile lit Snow's face and her own eyes filled with tears. "Now you've got me going," she joked. Emma grinned and, just as Snow had done for her, gave her time to regain control. "You know, Henry's a lot like you."

Emma scoffed. "Poor kid."

"No, not 'poor kid,'" Snow insisted. She leaned forward and grasped her mug of cocoa, mostly to keep her hands busy. "He's strong and courageous and a fighter, just like his mother."

Emma fidgeted in the chair and eventually leaned forward as well, crossing her arms on the table. "He is an amazing kid, isn't he? I just wish I knew whether that was because of Regina or despite her."

"I don't know, either," Snow admitted. "Like you, I wish I did. I was about Henry's age when she and I first met. She was really sweet to me and I liked her a lot. I even remember thinking it wouldn't be hard to love her. But that was … a lifetime ago." She looked up, meeting Emma's gaze. "From what I observed as Mary Margaret, she treated him well, made sure he was provided for, took care of him. She went through the motions. As far as nurturing him, though … I hope I'm wrong, but I think she's so focused on vengeance and hatred that she doesn't have it within her anymore to love – to truly love."

As Emma considered what Snow had said, she felt a rush of overwhelming sadness. Sadness for Henry and Snow and David and everyone in the Enchanted Forest. And, for reasons not entirely clear to her, even for Regina. The woman who had cursed everyone around her into a life of unhappiness and caused all this pain and destruction had cursed herself in the process.

Feeling any kind of sadness or sympathy or pity towards Regina just felt _wrong_ and made Emma squirm.

"Maybe it's nature, maybe it's nurture," Snow continued, her soft voice bringing Emma back to the present. "I don't know. What I do know is that I'm very glad he's my family, too."

Emma felt the all too familiar constricting in the back of her throat and knew more tears were imminent. Since she'd cried more than enough for one night, she decided to nip it in the bud. "We do kind of kick ass, don't we?"

Snow laughed, clearly grateful for the release. "You have _no_ idea."

Smiling, Emma peeked into her mug. A tiny bit of chocolate remained at the bottom, and she downed it one gulp. As she set the mug down, she all of a sudden felt exhausted. Catharsis, she remembered August telling her.

"You should try to go back to bed, Emma," Snow gently suggested. "You've got a big day tomorrow. No one should be playing with swords on no sleep."

Emma nodded before pushing herself to her feet. She grabbed Snow's empty mug along with hers and filled them both with water at the sink, leaving them to soak overnight. "Are you coming tomorrow, too?"

Snow looked touched that Emma had asked. "If you want me to come."

"Yes, please." Prior to tonight's conversation, Emma would have tacked on some kind of qualifier or excuse, like she needed someone to wrangle Henry while David conducted the lesson. But now she just let the statement speak for itself: she wanted her mother to come.

"All right, then. Looks like we _all_ have a big day tomorrow." After giving Emma a smile, Snow stood up from her seat at the table. She walked to the curtain separated her bedroom from the rest of the apartment as Emma headed for the stairs to the loft. "Good night, Emma."

"Night, Snow," Emma returned.

"Sleep tight," Snow added.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite," they finished in unison.

They met each other's eyes and shared a quiet chuckle. Then, with a smile between them, they both headed for bed, exhausted but hopeful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Tiny Disclaimer:** Save for the quick Googling I did for some basic terminology, I know absolutely nothing about fencing. Please take what you see in this chapter with a grain of salt.  
**Author's Note:** I just wanted to say once again that you guys are amazing. This is really the story you all wrote. I would have left it as a one-shot if you hadn't responded so well to the first chapter. Honestly, I had two other ending points all planned but you guys seemed to love the story so much that I just kept on writing to the point that this sucker is now a freakin' novella. ;) Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your lovely feedback. It means more to me than you'll ever know. I promised y'all an epic final chapter, and I hope I delivered! Let me know if I did. ;) Enjoy!

* * *

_Recognize you need to break through,  
__I believe, I believe in you._

* * *

"Emma," the young voice whispered directly into her ear. "Emma, wake up."

As Emma groaned and turned over, she reached down to yank the comforter over her head. Her hand grasped nothing but air. That little sneak! He'd obviously learned from previous attempts to get her out of bed and pulled the covers out of her reach. She groaned again, this time in frustration. "Kid, what part of 'I want to sleep in' did you not understand?"

"You _did_ sleep in," Henry informed her. She felt the mattress shift behind her and guessed he had climbed up onto the bed. The proximity of his voice when he spoke next confirmed her theory. "David said if you weren't up by nine, I could poke you."

She opened one eye to blearily check the time. The clock read 8:57. "It's not nine yet," she mumbled, her eye drifting shut.

"Close enough." She refused to move, keenly aware that she was being petulant. But David had said nine, and it wasn't nine.

Henry heaved a sigh as he bounced on his knees, causing the mattress to bounce with him. "Snow said she'd make us all Toaster Strudels for breakfast before your sword fighting lesson." His voice had started to verge on singsong. "Come on, Emma."

The mental image of Snow White making breakfast by dropping frozen pastries into a toaster made Emma smirk despite her annoyance. She grunted as she pushed herself into a sitting position. "All right, all right," she muttered, running a hand over her face. "You win. I'm up."

Grinning widely, Henry latched onto her hand and tugged her off the bed. "Great! Now we can eat breakfast and then after that, we get to go sword fighting!"

"What's this 'we' stuff?" Emma asked. The hand not trapped by Henry's grabbed onto the railing as her son half-dragged her down the stairs. "You're watching this exercise, Henry. _Watching_, remember?"

"Yeah, but I still get to _watch_ you and David play with swords," he replied giddily. He released Emma's hand and jumped down the last step. He skidded to a stop at the kitchen table, where a glass of milk for him and a mug of coffee for Emma already lay waiting. "It's going to be _so_ cool!"

Emma shook her head at her son's enthusiasm before easing into her place at the table and exchanging good mornings with her parents.

"I see you managed to get her up gently this morning," David said to Henry, ruffling the boy's hair. He sat down in the chair across from Emma and winked at her.

"Uh huh." Henry took a sip of milk. As he set the glass back down, he glanced at Emma out of the corner of his eye. Then, putting up a hand to shield his mouth from Emma's view, he turned to his grandfather and stage-whispered, "I'm lulling her into a false sense of security."

"Hey!" Emma cried, giving the kid's shoulder a light shove.

"Well, I can't jump on the bed to wake you up too many times in a row," he informed her with mock seriousness. "It works best when you're not expecting it."

David leaned forward in his chair, stage-whispering to his grandson, "If she's asleep, how can she expect it at all?"

Henry's eyes widened and a sly grin formed on his lips. Emma groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Thanks so much for that, David," she whined, her voice muffled.

"You're quite welcome," David chuckled.

Snow laughed as she approached the table with four small plates, two in each hand, a Toaster Strudel on each. Emma noted with amusement that Snow had already drizzled the icing on three of them but had left the packet sitting on the plain one. When Snow set the icing-less pastry in front of Henry, Emma grinned at her.

"This is already one of my favorite breakfasts ever," Henry said as he ripped open the packet. He squeezed a fat blob of icing onto the pastry and used his finger to spread it out.

"That sweet tooth of yours will be the death of me," Snow sighed, shaking her head as she sat down across from her grandson.

Emma watched as Snow bit into her own Toaster Strudel. Her mother's eyes lit up and a smile made its way across her lips. "Pretty good, huh?" Emma asked with an amused smirk.

"These things do taste good," Snow replied once she'd swallowed. "Not the healthiest of breakfasts, unfortunately, but I can see why you wanted Henry to try them."

"So …" Henry asked around a small bite of his Toaster Strudel. "We can add them to the grocery list, right? They can go right below the Lucky Charms!" Emma hid a smile behind her own pastry when Henry popped the packet into his mouth and sucked the leftover icing from it. Truth be told, she still did that herself on occasion.

Snow met her husband's eyes. He gave her a small shrug.

Emma watched the silent back-and-forth and wondered how in the hell they could communicate so well with simple gestures and facial expressions. Eventually, Snow gave a sigh. "Yes, I guess we can add them to the grocery list."

"Yes!" Henry grinned.

Emma sent Snow a grateful look. Snow just gave a slight roll of her eyes, but she couldn't hide the indulgent smile on her face.

"Whoa!" Henry suddenly exclaimed, his eyes wide. "I just thought of something!"

"What?" Emma asked, raising her eyebrows at the pure glee on the kid's face.

"If your dad is Prince Charming, that makes you a princess. And if my mom is a princess, that means I'm a prince. Emma, we're royalty!"

Oh, no. Emma couldn't really be a princess. Like, an actual fairy-tale princess. Could she?

She looked to her parents and willed them to tell her that she was not at all a princess. David simply grinned at her. Snow at least had the decency to give her an apologetic smile as she nodded.

Emma groaned, placing her head in her hands. She _was_ a flippin' princess. Wonderful. "I hope this doesn't mean I have to wear floofy dresses or a _tiara _or anything like that. Because that is _so_ not happening."

* * *

Emma plodded through the woods after her family on their way to the site David had picked for their sword fighting lesson. Henry marched in front of Emma but behind his grandparents on Emma's command. He had initially rolled his eyes at the seeming overprotection but when she asked him – rather shortly, she recalled with a cringe – to please just do it, he seemed to understand that the instruction was coming from a place of concern.

They emerged from the trees in a small clearing. David shifted the weight of the long bag he'd been carrying through the woods on his shoulder as he turned to Emma. "This space is big enough to give us some room but still small enough to contain our movements." He nodded towards a couple of flat rocks at the edge of the clearing and winked at his daughter. "It also has front-row seats for the peanut gallery."

"Sounds perfect," Emma said, then winced when she heard how tense she sounded.

David smiled reassuringly as he shrugged the bag off his shoulder. Snow and Henry went to make themselves as comfortable as possible on the rocks, and David dug two sheathed swords out of the bag. He handed one to Emma.

She had flashbacks to the elevator as she pulled the sword from the scabbard and stared at it with a mixture of wonder and a tiny bit of uncertainty. Oh, whoa, wait a second. This sword was real! "Where did you get these?" she asked her father. Considering the distinct lack of a swordsmith and forge in Storybrooke, she'd assumed that they'd have to conduct their lessons with sword substitutes.

"I have my sources," David grinned, clearly relishing the mystery. "The blades on these swords aren't honed, so they won't cut. They are still weapons, however, so injury is a very real possibility. We'll take it slow and only move forward when you feel comfortable."

"Aren't there, um, you know, practice weapons?" Emma asked nervously.

"None that I could get to in time." David gave her another reassuring smile. "Besides, practice weapons don't have quite the same feel as the real thing. If you're ready, we can start working on stance."

Emma nodded her assent, and they set to work. He showed her some basic stances for both offensive and defensive moves. She stood beside him and, watching him out of the corner of her eye, copied his motions. After the third time he told her to spread her feet to shoulder-width apart, she testily asked why it mattered.

He spun around and swung his blade down hard on hers. Crying out in surprise, Emma dropped the sword. It clanged against something on the ground, a rock, probably. "That's why it matters," he told her with a grin.

"Point taken," Emma grumbled, snatching her sword up from the forest floor. She carefully brushed the dirt off the blade and assumed her previous position, this time spreading out her feet.

They practiced stance until Emma was able to do them as he called them out without having to watch him. Then he had her face him and they ran through them another couple of times so she could see what they would look like in a fight situation. "Good. If you're comfortable, we can move on to some basic thrusts and parries."

Emma raised her eyebrows. David must have read a little bit of confusion into her expression because he gave her an amused smile and said, "Hits and blocks."

"Okay," Emma said, letting out a shaky breath. "Can we do blocks first?" When he nodded at her, she repositioned herself into a defensive stance and held the sword like he'd showed her. Her palms were sweating and she tried to calm herself down. Stances were one thing; actually clanging swords with someone was another thing entirely.

"You need to relax, Emma," he told her gently.

"I am relaxed," she replied, although it was quite clear that she was not relaxed in the slightest.

David shot her a look but continued the lesson without another comment. He showed her a couple of parries, slowly bringing his blade down on hers to check her positioning. "You're doing great," he said with a smile. "Ready to try it sort of for real?"

"'Sort of?'"

"Well, I'm not really going to be coming at you as if I was trying to hurt you."

"Oh. Right." Emma gave him a tight smile and squared her shoulders. "Ready when you are."

"Okay, on the count of three. One … two … three."

He swung his sword at hers. She successfully completed the parry but the force of the thrust surprised her. Once again, she dropped the sword, only this time it was because her wrist had turned under the pressure of David' swing. "Shit!"

David immediately sheathed his sword and ran over to her. "Are you okay?" He grabbed her arm to inspect her injured wrist.

"I'm fine," she answered, pulling out of his grip. "I guess I wasn't as ready for that as I thought."

"What happened?" When she explained what made her drop the sword, he smiled gently at her. "That's why I told you to relax. When you take a hit, the shockwave goes down the blade and into your arms. If your muscles are too lax, you'll drop the weapon, but if they're too tense, they can't absorb the shock of the hit and you risk injury."

Emma nodded. Kind of like recoil when firing a gun. She turned her wrist gently to test it out; it seemed to be no worse for the wear. "It's okay now."

"All right. You want to keep going?"

"Yes, please."

David showed her a couple more parries. It took Emma a try or two to find the sweet spot between keeping her muscles too relaxed and keeping them too tense. David gave her a proud nod when he noted that the hits were no longer forcing her arms out of position.

When he started walking her through some thrusts, Snow leaped up from her seat on the rock and walked forward to correct the position of Emma's hands on the grip. "Keep them a little more separated," she told her. "You're doing the hitting this time, but there's still a shockwave. You don't want to injure your wrist further."

Emma looked at Snow with raised eyebrows. Snow grinned innocently at her daughter. "What? You think I know nothing about swordplay?"

"Okay, then," Emma said with a shake of her head. She watched in what could only be described as shock as Snow took the sword from her and showed her where to put her hands on the grip. Then she held the sword out to Emma.

Emma took back the weapon and placed her hands where Snow had indicated. "Much better," Snow said to her daughter.

Despite her surprise, Emma's heart swelled. Then she groaned inwardly. Was that … pride and accomplishment? It was, wasn't it? Crap. Once again, this family thing was making her so very soft.

Her inner musings were cut short when she heard Henry cry out in surprise. All three of them turned in the direction of his voice, and Emma's heart leaped into her throat.

Henry was no longer sitting on the rock but standing next to it. Regina stood behind him, her arm across his chest. Her grip was clearly stronger than it looked because Henry's struggling had no effect. "You really should keep a better eye on the boy, Ms. Swan," Regina said, a sneer on her lips.

As if Regina had any room to talk. How many times had Henry snuck off on her watch? That, however, was an argument for another time. "Let him go, Regina," Emma commanded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David subtly shift position. Offensive stance, she noted.

No, she didn't want him to attack. Not when Regina had Henry and not when they didn't know what she could do. She'd obviously arrived at their spot in the woods through magical means because they would have heard her otherwise. Emma didn't want her disappearing with Henry in her arms. She shifted her body into a defensive position and silently willed David to follow her lead.

"You seem to be forgetting that Henry is my son," Regina replied. She tightened her arm around the boy's chest, causing Henry to struggle harder. "I'm simply taking back what's mine."

"You're not going anywhere with that kid," Emma shot back.

"And what do you plan on doing to stop me, dear?" Regina asked, her eyes glittering in amusement.

All of a sudden, Emma realized that, just as she'd feared, Regina thought things were the same as before. She still thought Emma was two steps behind her. Anger coursed through Emma's veins, and before anyone could stop her – before Emma herself even realized what she was doing – she dashed forward and rested the tip of the sword against the base of Regina's throat. "Let him go."

Sudden fear flashed into Regina's eyes as she glanced down at the cold metal blade lying against her skin. Then she smirked, looking up at Emma in amusement. "I don't know what you're expecting to prove with this, dear. That blade's not sharpened. It can't kill me."

"No, but it'll still hurt like a bitch." Emma's voice was even, controlled, and betrayed none of the absolute terror she was feeling. "Let. Him. Go."

In response, Regina once again tightened her grip. Henry cried out in pain.

Frantically, Emma caught Henry's eye. Though he was trying his best to hide it, the poor kid was terrified. Emma held his gaze, slightly bent her knees, and sent a silent prayer that he would figure out what she was trying to tell him. It was a self-defense move she'd once learned in a school assembly. In a struggle against someone gripping the upper body, the easiest way to attempt escape was to crouch down and scoot under the person's arm rather than pushing forward.

Henry went still for a split second. His eyes registered comprehension and then he gave Emma a slight nod. Confident that he knew what she wanted him to do, Emma held her free hand behind her to stop her parents' advance and returned her attention to Regina. "I'm giving you to the count of three to let him go, Regina."

"And what if I don't?" Regina asked, clearly enjoying the verbal sparring. "What, pray tell, are you planning on doing to me? Because I do wish you'd get on with it, Ms. Swan. This grandstanding is becoming a bit tedious."

Emma once again glanced down at Henry. He nodded, this time signaling that he was ready. Emma gave a slight nod in return before exerting a little pressure on the sword. Fear flickered into Regina's eyes for a second time. "I could say the same to you, _Your Majesty_. How come you haven't turned me into a toad by now? After all, you have magic again. My guess is that you can't. You're the one who told me that magic here is unpredictable. It doesn't work the way you expected, does it?"

As Emma was talking, Regina's grip around Henry had loosened. Not a lot but just enough to make the escape possible. Emma shifted her feet, knowing that after watching her and David do stances all morning, Henry would understand. In one swift motion, he bent his knees and ducked out of Regina's grasp. Then he ran as fast as he could towards Snow, who wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Regina took a half-step forward but Emma refused to yield. She remained in place, the sword still pointed at Regina's throat. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Emma told her.

"He's _my_ son," Regina insisted, utter fury lighting her eyes.

"But I don't want to go with you!" Henry cried. He broke free from Snow's embrace and stood next to Emma, facing his adoptive mother.

Emma brought the sword back slightly as she inched forward in an effort to keep Henry behind her. The boy rested a hand on her arm and squeezed. Something about the gesture made her shift back into defensive position.

"I don't want to go with you," Henry repeated more softly. "I'm happy with Emma and my family."

When Regina flicked her gaze to their son, Emma was surprised to see real pain in the woman's eyes. "You used to be happy with me."

Henry opened his mouth and then closed it, as if reconsidering what he wanted to say. He swallowed hard and took one step closer to Regina. "I know but that was a long time ago. At the hospital, you said you love me. If you really love me, you'll let me stay with Emma. It's what I want."

A hurt look crossed Regina's face but after a beat, she pulled herself together. Her eyes glittered in anger as she addressed Emma. "I don't know what you've done to poison him against me, Ms. Swan, but this is not over." Before Emma could even open her mouth to argue, Regina was gone in a puff of dark purple smoke.

Emma let out a heavy breath as she lowered the sword. The muscles in her arms were screaming from having to hold the weapon steady for so long. "Are you okay?" she asked, turning to Henry.

Henry nodded, then dashed forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I don't want her to take me anywhere, Emma! Please don't let her take me."

"She won't, kid," Emma told him. The sword dropped from her hand, forgotten, as she held her son in a tight embrace. "I promise, she won't take you."

David and Snow ran up to mother and son, asking in unison if they were all right.

"Yeah," Emma murmured. "Yeah, we're okay."

"You handled that exceptionally well, Emma," David said, giving his daughter a proud smile. "Looks like you're a natural with the swordplay."

"That?" Emma asked, looking at him with a confused frown. "I didn't do anything and besides, the blade's not even sharp!"

"Sword fighting is just as much defense as it is offense," Snow told her. "You assessed the situation, determined what was needed, and found a way to let the other members of your party know what you'd decided, all while keeping a level head. So you want to tell me again how you didn't do anything?"

Okay, so maybe she had done a little something. The praise was making her rather uncomfortable, though. She looked down at the top of her son's head and realized she needed to give praise of her own. "You did great, too, kid," she said, pulling out of the hug. "How did you figure out what I wanted you to do?"

"I don't really know," Henry replied with a shrug. "I saw you bend your knees and then I looked into your eyes and just … knew."

Emma stared at her son in amazement. What had happened between them? Then she thought back to all the silent conversations she'd watched David and Snow conduct and wondered if she and Henry had just done the same thing. Never in her life had anyone known her well enough to hold a conversation with nothing but looks and body language, and the notion that someone now did thrilled her more than she really expected. When she pulled Henry into another hug, she surprised everyone, including herself.

"What was that for?" Henry asked in a bewildered tone when she let him go.

"Nothing," Emma said uncomfortably. "I'm just glad she didn't magic you away into a locked tower somewhere."

Everyone laughed but Snow caught Emma's eye and gave her a knowing smile. Emma quickly looked away once she knew Snow had figured out the real reason behind the second hug and picked her sword up off the ground. "Before we were so rudely interrupted," she said to David, "I believe we were working on thrusts."

David nodded and unsheathed his own weapon, easily slipping back into teacher mode. Emma expected Snow and Henry to sit back on the rocks but a smile curled on her lips when she saw the two of them pick up fallen sticks to use as swords and pretend to fight each other.

As David walked her through some basic offensive maneuvers, Emma all of a sudden felt a sense of … not peace, exactly, but something … calm. So much was still up in the air, so much pain and heartache still remained to be dealt with, but for some reason, she now thought that maybe fine did still exist. And maybe it wasn't as far away as she'd believed.

Maybe she would be able to find her way to back to fine after all. Sometimes she would lead her family and sometimes they would lead her, but maybe they could get there. And maybe, just maybe, beyond fine lay the happiness and the belonging and the love she'd been searching for her entire life.


End file.
